More Than a Name
by AtinBralor
Summary: Commander Wolffe and his wolfpack. Can anyone crack that hard shell? M/M
1. Chapter 1

_**A new story - a lighter story than all the others really. This is my chance to relax and write something potentially smutty - although I can't really see Wolffe as Mr Smut...really. This is just a short introduction, setting the scene I suppose, that I wrote this morning. I've not decided if this story is about Wolffe...or about Sol...or just a light hearted thing encompassing them both, so we'll see where it goes again.**_

_**And just as a final bail out point for anyone who needs it - this will be M/M. It will not be any more graphic than any of my other stories...come to think of it I think I only have one sex scene in everything on here and it's not overly graphic. I don't do gooey graphic filth and this will be no different. If there are any scenes they will be done tastefully. But if the concept bothers you this is the back out point, don't say I didn't warn you! ;P**_

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><p>Transfers - he hated transfers. With a bunch of new recruits he would take the opportunity to send some recent shinies to welcome them - it gave the younger members a chance to gain confidence in their knowledge - but most transfers, these included, were not voluntary and it wasn't a fair task to give to shinies.<p>

Transfers were often due to bad blood in a company and in Wolffe's opinion, moving the problem on was not the way to deal with it; it just meant he got landed with someone else's discipline problems.

There was enough going on in this war without having to pick up other people's failings.

So instead he found himself standing in the hanger bay with three of his sergeants; Chase, Rig and Akki, watching the six transfers disembark from the transport. They had been stripped of any armour marking they may have had in their original company, effectively rendering them shiny again, in armour if not in mind. It was not only a logical move to give a blank canvas for earning Wolfpack colours but it was also a psychological move to slap down arrogance.

Wolffe watched them line up and stand to attention, frustrated to be wasting time dealing with delinquents. His damaged eye ached and he was looking forward to having further treatment on it. He wasn't keen on having a cybernetic - it was too droid like - but at least he'd be able to work better again.

The saving grace was that the disfiguring scar did a good job of putting the wind up all those new troopers who met him.

He didn't bother asking their skills. He could read that data on their files, but right now they were going to be doing grunt work until they settled in to the pecking order.

When he came to the end of the line-up he saw the last clone visibly flinch while willing himself almost impossibly upright. Any more tense and his spine would snap!

"CT-5468, sir."

Wolffe gave him a hard stare, trying to read past the apparent nerves. The armour was stripped and plain but still held the medic symbol on the shoulder. That was one skill they didn't ignore.

This clone didn't seem to have the same defiant or defeated attitude that most transfers had, in truth, he just appeared to be scared of doing anything wrong. "Name and designation, trooper."

The medic swallowed visibly, his eye line dropping briefly to the floor. "CT-5468, Sol, sir." He barely murmured the name.

Normally he would make a mumbler repeat himself, but something stopped him in this case. Instead he took a few steps back and scanned the line of men. He would send two with each sergeant and he never paired them off as they stood because they would often stand beside their friends. Instead he took the medic and the trooper from the opposite end of the line and assigned them to Sergeant Chase. "Show them their rack and then I want all six of you in for medicals. You can the get some food and an early night. You'll be slotted in to the rotations at the discretion of your sergeant but I advise you take the chance of a good night's sleep." He paused to see how his words were absorbed. Medic - Sol - still stood to attention but the other five had eased in to parade rest with their allocations.

"Dismissed."

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><p><em><strong>I did consider hosting it elsewhere and not on here - but then I thought 'sod it, I write for my own enjoyment, I'll stick it with all my other stuff'. It's not as if I've got folk falling over themselves to read my stuff so I've nothing to lose. <strong>_

_**So enjoy, or hate, as you see fit...guess who's a grumpy besom today. :P Too much work and not enough free time...and I've got block on my other stories...hence the simple smut. The pendulum will start to swing again - ideas will come - but till then I will sulk quietly in my corner.**_

_**Oh, and as a side note, the Atin Bralor Merc's costume has passed application so have made it as an official member now. Something to grin about. :)**_

_**~ Atin**_


	2. Chapter 2

Wolffe lay on his bunk in the dark, trying to ignore the pounding in his head and the irritating blips of the console lights. He had messages...he had work...but he couldn't focus on it right now. He'd been returned to the ship not long after the surgery and he was itching to get back to his duties; it wasn't in his nature to sit around doing nothing, but right now he couldn't even manage to sleep.

He didn't like to admit any weakness in front of his men, but the new cybernetic addition was giving him an almighty headache. It started as a minor irritation but now he had to lie in the darkened room to tolerate it. He'd finally had to admit defeat and had sent a message via his wrist comm to the medbay. It would be a senior medic on duty at this time of the night and he could tolerate scrutiny from those well-established members of his pack. He was still feeling self-conscious about the cybernetic and didn't really want to face anyone until it was more comfortable and his confidence had returned.

It wasn't long before there came a knock at his door and he murmured a reply to enter.

The footsteps that entered were tentative and he knew it wasn't Kohl just by those details.

"CT-5468, sir. What do you..."

That confirmed his suspicion and he jerked upright, instantly regretting it as the stabbing pain increased. "Sol?" He clutched a hand to his head, willing the pain away. "Where's Kohl?"

The young medic hovered tentatively in the centre of the small room. He seemed scared to do anything or touch anything. "He's resting, sir. He was doing a double shift and he's not up to full fitness yet. He had to sit down or he'd fall down, sir." His explanation was garbled and rushed, but it always was.

Wolffe propped himself up against the wall to fix him with a glower; it was more of a squint at this point but he tried his best. "There should always be a senior medic in the medbay." He'd left the medbay rota in Kohl's hands while he was out of action. "There should always be either Kohl, Cav or Trill on..." _Fek, he'd forgotten_. They'd lost Cav just before Wolffe left for surgery and Trill had been badly injured in the same conflict and was still in bacta. Medic's always seemed to get hurt. There _was_ only Kohl right now. He hated being out of touch, even if it was outside of his control. It wasn't enough for that sith witch to take his eye but he never seemed to be able to get away from the memory either.

Sol seemed to understand what he was thinking and took a few cautious steps forward to bring himself to the edge of the bunk. "I'll manage, sir...it'll let Kohl get a few hours rack time." He paused for a moment as if thinking about what he wanted to say. "I'd be a senior medic too, if I were anyone else...without the transfer." There was bitterness in his voice but he forced it away and took out his medkit. "Pain relief, sir?" It was a pretty safe guess considering the new and eerie silvery eye staring back at him in the dark. It was even more terrifying than the old, milky blind one had been.

Wolffe gave a nod, still watching his reactions. "Something strong." He motioned towards the light switch, letting him know he could work in light. The harsh light as Sol flipped it on made him hiss and lower his head in to his hands, screwing his eyes shut. The light was like someone ramming a poker through his eye socket.

Sol quickly turned the main light off again, plunging the room into darkness. "Are you okay, sir?" He didn't get a proper reply, but the growl of frustration seemed as good as he could expect, so he stepped across the room to turn on the small desk lamp. It was still harsh light, but it was a smaller source and just lent a little glow over by the time the light reached the bunk.

He laid his medkit on the desk and selected a powerful painkiller and a mild sedative. With a sense of trepidation, he pulled the chair over and perched at the side of the bed. The commander still had both hands up to his head so he had to gently tug on his right arm to bring it down on to the mattress. He rolled up the arm of the fatigues and used a sterile wipe to clean the area before palpating a vein and injecting the pain relief.

Wolffe didn't flinch; the sting of the needle was nothing - not even enough to distract him from the headache.

Sol rubbed the area with his thumb and picked up his second syringe. "Would you like something to help you sleep, sir? Not too powerful. It'll just assist you in getting asleep and staying asleep."

Wolffe still hadn't opened his eyes, but he nodded very slightly; still reluctant to move too much in case it made the ache worse.

Sol administered the sedative with practiced ease and kept his finger over the pin prick for a moment to prevent it bleeding. Once he was happy, he recapped both used syringes and put them in his kit for disposal back at the medbay and assisted his commander in laying down flat again on the mattress.

Wolffe accepted the strong arm helping him get settled and finally cracked an eye open to look at him again. "You don't have to wear your armour when you're on medbay duty, Sol. Stop by your squad's room and change in to fatigues on your way back." He didn't usually like sedatives, but this time the pleasant warm feeling was welcome. He was happy to curl up and get some rest; hopefully he'd wake up without the pain. He felt conned because they'd made out how simple the recovery had been. They'd never said that it would feel like having a cybernetic lodged on spikes on his skull. It didn't help him warm to the idea.

He was already beginning to fall asleep when Sol stood up to leave, gathering his kit up and slipping the light off.

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><p>Sol did exactly as he had told to; visiting his bunk on his way back towards the medbay and changing out of the armour and into the burgundy fatigues. It made no difference to him. Fatigues made you very much part of the crowd without your personal armour markings, but he had plain armour with no small personal marks...just his medic symbol because they didn't take that duty away from him. He was glad he got to retain that one element of himself. It wasn't much, but it let him do his bit of good. He liked to be able to help others. They couldn't take that away from him and it gave him something to focus on; doing back to back shifts in the medbay to keep out of the way.<p>

He took a quick detour to visit the 'fresher and was just washing his hands when someone else came in.

It was late...he'd not seen many others going about. Only those who had work to do tended to be up and around at this time. He caught a flash of red fatigues in his peripheral vision before a well-placed punch sent him down to the floor on his hands and knees.

He knew the drill and tried to make himself small; tucking his head in and protecting it with his arms.

Next came a kick to the ribs, so hard that it knocked the air from his lungs and he collapsed on to his side, choking as he gulped in air. He opened his eyes as he was hauled to his feet by the collar of his fatigues.

He recognised the brother as the transfer he had been paired with to join Sergeant Chase. He knew the man as Venn, but he'd never met him before they joined the Wolfpack. He never exchanged words with him aside from when it was necessary...he didn't speak unless spoken to.

Venn pushed him back against the edge of the counter, his hand still grasping a fistful of fatigues. "I know what you did." With that short, growled warning, he thrust him away and turned to leave before anyone stumbled upon them.

Sol was left to brace himself against the counter and swallow lungful's of air until he felt he had some control, and then he straightened out his rumpled tunic and composed himself before walking back out in to the empty hall to return to the medbay.

He thought he'd left that behind. A transfer...none of his old company...a new squad, new brothers. A fresh start.

It hadn't been too bad, all things considered; it'd bruise but nothing was broken. Maybe it would be a one off...a warning and a reminder that nobody trusted him.

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><p>He spent the rest of the night in the medbay, only taking time out to return to his commander's quarters to check on his condition. He hadn't heard anything since he'd left him but he wouldn't be a good medic if he didn't follow up on his treatments.<p>

He'd knocked on the door but got no reply, so he quietly slipped the door open and stepped over to the bunk.

Wolffe was fast asleep, still frowning but then so far Sol hadn't seen him without that frown in place...even in sleep...so he had it marked down as NFW – Normal-For-Wolffe. He gently placed his fingers to his wrist to check his pulse rate and it all seemed okay so he stepped back, preparing to leave him.

He watched him for a few moments, taking the opportunity to examine him in the slight glow of the console lights. Same face - same features. Wolffe was marginally older the Sol, but not by much.

He had strong, handsome features. In theory, all clones looked identical, but to a brother there were so many minute differences. Apart from the obvious issue with his scarred eye, he was in peak physical condition and Sol had heard his reputation as a commander long before being assigned to him.

He had to be admired, and that was exactly what Sol did for a long few minutes, before backing quietly from the room and returning to his customary spot in the medbay; happy to start another shift if it meant he stayed away from the quarters. As the hours ticked by he found himself engrossed in medical texts covering the use of optical cybernetics. It wasn't something he had ever thought he'd come across because they wouldn't bother fitting a normal clone with one, but Wolffe obviously had skills that were worth preserving by going this extra mile. Looking at his track record even at this stage in the war, it was easy to see why.

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><p><em><strong>Thanks for reading. Getting something of a plan together now...feel slightly less like I'm flying blind with his story! - Atin<strong>_


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

It had been little more than a week before they found themselves back at it; hunkered down on a murky, wet planet. The camp was thick with mud and it didn't take much to lower moral. For every step forward, they took two back. The temporary camp was the closest they had to a safe haven; heavily protected by a rotating guard and housing a few temporary structures. There was a kitchen serving hot rations, a 'freshers block and a series of heavy canvas tents which each housed a squad.

It wouldn't normally be too bad - it was a home away from home for the troopers - but the clay ground under foot meant that the thick, claggy mud was getting tramped everywhere. Even the sleeping spaces were filthy despite the best attempts of all to keep them clean. It didn't matter how many times they tried to wipe clean the armour; the soles of the boots were thick with mud.

The conditions were proving difficult for the medics as well. It was easy to think of the necessary treatments being for injuries only, but no matter how many hypos they stabbed the troopers with, there was always some local virus waiting to get them, and the medbay was full of sick troops. It was difficult to pin point the exact source of the bacteria but it was putting more men out of action than the enemy. The only advantage that could be seen was that the sickness wasn't too great a risk to otherwise healthy men and they just needed to be kept hydrated and as warm and a comfortable as the conditions would allow. It was still spreading like wildfire though and leaving then with a greatly reduced fighting force.

Sol had spent his evening in the medbay, helping keep the patients comfortable and the mud to a minimum, until Kohl had sent him away with threats to his carcass if he didn't get some sleep. He was nearing his twentieth waking hour and he was expected on duty early; another push - maybe a little more ground gained but most likely just more men lost. It was getting to be a bitter and repetitive cycle.

He made his way to the 'fresher block and turned in to the showers, knowing it would be empty at this time of night. Everyone wanted to get washed up before settling down for the evening so if he waited, he got the place to himself. He stripped out of the armour and bodysuit, stacking them neatly on a bench before heading for the large U-shaped circuit of showers.

What classed for a shower was more of a trickle of freezing water from an overhead cistern. It was enough to get clean if you were proactive with your scrubbing, but it was far from pleasant and he was about as clean as he was going to get when he heard footsteps on the durasteel floor approaching his area. He had just managed to grab his towel from the floor and get it wrapped around his torso when Wolffe stalked round the corner, his own towel resting over his forearm. Anyone would expect that - without the armour - he would look just like every other trooper, but even stark naked, Wolffe still had an air of authority, and Sol was quick to make his escape; heading back round the corner to get dried and dressed. He'd ducked his head and mumbled a 'good evening, sir' but he was still cautious to be caught in the showers by anyone, let alone his commander. He had a latticework of fine tattoos across his torso that had been responsible for many of the pointed jibes from his brothers over the years. He was proud of them, and they served as a memory of happier times, but the brother who had decorated him was no longer with them; left laying on some unnamed battlefield at the start of the war. There was no rule against them - in fact, most troopers had some form of ink work, even if it was something small. In an identical army, a sense of individuality was of the highest value.

He sat down on the bench and began to scrub himself dry, intending to get dressed and away before there was any risk of his commander catching up with him. He was just smoothing out the creases in his under suit when he heard a muttered curse and a clatter. After a few moments of silence, he felt he had to go and investigate. He found his commander in a crumpled heap under the water flow, conscious but looking extremely dazed.

He attempted to get to his feet before Sol could reach him but his balance was shot. The room was out of focus and he ended falling sideways again, trying to catch himself on the wall but it wasn't where his distorted vision thought and he crashed to the floor.

The medic in Sol took over and he was across the floor in a flash to prevent yet another failed attempt, placing a firm hand on Wolffe's shoulder. "Just sit a moment, sir, relax." He knelt down on the wet floor and slapped the control to turn to water off. He waited patiently while his commander regained some degree of composure. "Shall I find Kohl, sir...I think he's still on duty."

Wolffe hefted himself upright against the wall and pressed a hand to his head, cupped against the cybernetic. The pain had eased again but it had hit so suddenly he felt sick. It was sheer, white hot agony which ripped through his head without a moments warning and then disappear to leave the perpetual ache that he just couldn't seem to shake. Sometimes he could see clearly and other time the vision in his new eye distorted and warped, making him dizzy and disorientated. It was worse than having no sight, but there was no way he was going to his senior medic because then he would end up sent back to Ord Cestus. If this experiment with cybernetics was a failure he could jeopardise the chances of other brothers; they wouldn't waste time trying again and he had no illusions of what they would do with the failed test subject. At best he would be sent to do a desk job and at worst, it would be a one way ticket to Kamino. To Wolffe, the idea of letting his mind rot while working a desk job was just as unpleasant as termination. He wanted to die in service, not age until his body failed him.

He realised he still hadn't answered his new recruit. "I'm fine, don't bother Kohl." He opened his eyes and tried to get the focus to work, attempting to make the image of the medic become less of a blur. "Why, whenever I'm down, does it always seem to be you who's there at my shoulder...trembling...?" He almost smiled; the corner of his mouth twitched up before another band of pain tightened behind his eyes and he groaned softly, gritting his teeth until the pressure eased. "You don't happen to have some of those nice strong painkillers, do you?"

Sol froze, trying to work out if he was being teased or told off, realising that he was indeed trembling. He was always terrified of doing anything that would get him in to any trouble - all he wanted was to do his job, the same as every other trooper. "...sir?"

Wolffe shook his head slightly, wanting to be amused by the shininess of this trooper. He had too many battles behind him to be shiny, yet here he was, trembling because he had to address a commander. He couldn't make sense of it but he really didn't care right now. "Never mind, just give me a hand to get up and one of those painkillers and I'll let you get on." He gave a grunt as Sol helped him to his feet, but he managed to stay upright this time.

Sol handed him his towel and offered him a shoulder to lean on but Wolffe made his own slow way through to sit on a bench and begin to replace his armour. He found the requested pain killer in his own personal medkit and administered the hypo against the commander's bicep. He preferred to administer drugs with a needle but the portable medkit had many items in hypo form so that all troopers could self-administer pain killers and stim shots without the need to find a vein on themselves. It was practical, but not as 'correct' in Sol's mind. He liked to do things properly, not just the quickest way. He waited until Wolffe was ready to move and then finished clipping his own armour back in to place.

It was always difficult to get the back plate on alone but he had adapted a technique of leaning it against a solid object so that he could get it pressed flush with his back and then join the clips at his shoulders. He was in the process of trying to balance it without an obvious point to lean when he felt a firm pressure on his back.

Wolffe had placed a hand on the plate, holding it in place against the medic's back.

Sol turned to glance over his shoulder in surprise, then snapped the locks and stood up, securing the belt around his waist. "Thank you, sir." Nobody had helped him armour up in what seemed like forever - it was more fun to laugh at his struggles. "Would you like a hand getting to your tent?" He didn't mean to ask that; his mind wanting to run and creep in to bed, hopefully without waking anyone, and get the hours over until he was back on duty, but for some reason it was an automatic slip to offer assistance.

Wolffe started to shake his head, but as he stood up his visual blurred and tunnelled, sending him off balance. He reached out quickly and steadied himself with a hand on Sol's shoulder. "Maybe that'd be a good idea..." He allowed himself to be led, aware that the medic was walking slower than normal, letting him set the pace but there ready to offer discreet assistance if required. He appreciated that because he really didn't want to be seen looking like he needed help a few hours before the next assault. It wouldn't be good for morale for the men to think their leader was anything but invincible. He made it to his tent and only needed assistance from Sol to negotiate the cluttered space within. He maybe didn't have to share the tent with anyone else, but he did have a crate with sheets of flimsy all over it, all needing his attention. _After a few hours' sleep..._

"I'll be fine now, thank you." He rubbed his cybernetic irritably and looked up at Sol with vague hope. "Do you have anything of that other magic you gave me last time?" He'd not been sleeping well at all and the less sleep he got, the more it all hurt.

Sol looked as if he was going to deny it, but after a moment's hesitation he gave a nod. "I'll need to get some from the medbay. I don't have any on me..." When he returned, Wolffe had removed his armour and settled cross legged on his bed roll, the arm of his fatigues rolled up ready for the injection.

Sol filled the syringe with a light dose and squatted down to try to get at the right angle to find a vein. It wasn't easy to inject someone who was sitting on the floor, but Wolffe noticed his awkward position and patted the bedroll by his side.

"My bark is worse than my bite, Sol. Sit for a moment." He waited until the medkit took a seat; watching him lower himself as if there might be some trick waiting for him. He couldn't get a handle on this new member of his pack at all. He didn't behave like a transfer. He seemed so meek and well behaved it was impossible to imagine him doing anything bad enough to be moved. He could have requested notes but he didn't like to have any influence hanging over how he treated the men; this was a chance to put the mistakes behind them. If they misbehaved he would come down on them like a bomb, but if they toed the line they could slot in without their past digressions haunting them, but he was curious in this case. He waited until Sol had found a vein, watching the complete concentration on his face even over a simple task. Sol rarely seemed to switch off; he gave even the smallest of tasks 110% attention. He seemed the ideal trooper. The needle stung a little as it bit in to his skin. "Why did you end up on the transfer?" He felt a slight pang of guilt at asking this of one of his troopers because the command gap meant they were put in a position of having to answer an awkward question.

There was complete silence as Sol finished administering the sedative; he didn't answer until he was finished the task in hand.

"...because I lost my temper, Commander."

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><p>That turned out to be their final night on this force forsaken planet. The morning assault failed to gain any ground at all and the decision was made to withdraw.<p>

The push forward had taken them right in to a trap and they had ended up bogged down, knee deep in mud trying to fight natives who knew the terrain better than they ever could. Sol had been on his knees in the mud, trying to stabilise a trooper enough to get him to safety. He was aware that he was in a vulnerable position but the squad had been instructed to provide cover the medics. The only plan now was to get as many brothers' home safely.

Sol could hear Sergeant Chase barking instructions and he knew that the position of the squad was providing enough cover for both himself, Trill and Kohl to dash around the no-mans-land checking for those still living. It was a grim task but it was one of the most important. Sol had found this trooper who had been badly cut by shrapnel from his AT-RT and was determined to stabilise him enough to get him moving.

He'd had a miserable night with little sleep because his visit to the commander's tent had been dually noted and he had been labelled a snitch. It didn't matter how often he tried to explain that he just wanted to do his job, he had been labelled regardless of his defence.

He had been in the process of applying a haemostatic dressing when a burst of blaster fire shot over his head, one shot low enough to hit his shoulder, pitching him forward in to the mud.

He heard his own cry, feeling the shot penetrate the feeble armour. It was close enough that the shielding properties weren't good enough to dissipate the energy. He tried to sit upright and continue giving first aid; knowing that this brother would die without treatment, but he couldn't make his body move.

He could hear shouts, instructions and above it all, Sergeant Chase yelling himself hoarse about providing cover to the medics. He was aware of someone moving the trooper he had been treating - it was one of his squad that had made the dash out of cover - but they only grabbed the patient, leaving Sol where he was.

He felt a bitter sense of loneliness at that point, struggling desperately to fight back a cloud of black and get himself up on to a knee, but he couldn't maintain it and collapsed back in to the thick mud, aware that his white armour was now probably filthy, rendering him invisible.

They all knew they'd died in battle but the shot that hit him had come from the behind him; he had his back to safety, facing the enemy, and yet he had still been shot in the back. He didn't intend to cry but knowing that there was nobody who valued his life enough to help him, when he spent every moment trying to save the lives of anyone else injured left him sobbing; still struggling to crawl through the sucking, pulling mud towards possible safety, fearing that at any moment there may come a second bullet to finish him.

It was always night on a battlefield, the air dark with smoke, debris and fire and he didn't see his saviour until two pairs of arms grabbed his biceps and started to drag him rapidly behind the lines of troopers. When they came to a halt, they were about ten metres behind the front line and he was left lying on his side, fighting with unconsciousness. Both wore full Wolfpack markings and he didn't recognise them at all; miraculously, one also had a medic symbol, nearly obscured by the mud. He could see Wolffe a few metres away, glancing towards them and calling on the other trooper, _Boost_, leaving Sol in the hands of the medic.

The brother knelt down in the mud at his side, packing the wound with field dressing and pulling away Sol's helmet so that he could inject the hypos in to his neck.

He knew that his face must be streaked with tears and felt both a shame and incomparable gratitude to the men who had had to rush to assist him when his squad deserted him.

The medic wiped a muddy thumb across his tear stained cheek, leaving another streak of mud. "Easy, vod'ika, I've got you." He had the calm and gentle voice of all medics and Sol found himself wondering how they all seemed to adopt this habit. He was so distracted by the random thought that he only just caught his name.

_Ghost_.

A ghost in the fog of battle.

He had never been happier to see a ghost and he managed a small smile before unconsciousness claimed him.

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><p><strong><em>Oh, Sol, I've never felt so sorry for one of my created beings. This is way more serious than I'd ever considered making this story! This was meant to be the light relief fic... ~ Atin<em>**


	4. Chapter 4

After twelve hours in bacta, Sol was hauled out and scrubbed unceremoniously by a med droid. Even with that indignant experience over, he was still sure he had mud in places he didn't know existed and he wanted to get out the bed and back on duty. His shoulder was healed up nicely but the nerves were still regenerating, meaning that he didn't have full control of his left arm yet. He could flop it around like a fish, but not do anything useful. The med droid had strapped his arm against his bare chest and then left him with only a thin sheet to cover himself.

He longed for a bit of company from one of his fellow medics but there had been a lot of serious injuries coming back on board and he knew they would be very busy. He had seen Kohl checking on him when he was still in the tank, but from decanting onwards it had been just med droids and he'd been placed in a side ward alone. He couldn't make up his mind if that was a good thing or whether it made him feel more vulnerable; but regardless of the outcome that was just how it was going to be for him.

He was just reaching the stage when he was seriously considering whether he could get away with signing himself out or not when the door swung open. He didn't recognise the trooper who entered and automatically tensed.

He must have shown his fear because the trooper came to a halt and held his hands up in a submissive gesture. "Easy, brother...if looks could kill, eh?" He shrugged a shoulder to indicate the kit bag he was carrying. "I come in peace. Name's Boost...I helped Ghost haul your shebs through the mud."

Sol relaxed a little but he was still confused. The trooper had red hair shaved in to two strips from his forehead to the nape of his neck and he wore a jovial smile. He seemed like someone who smiled a lot. Upon closer examination, Sol noticed a pair of deep, parallel scars running from his right cheekbone right down across his lips until they reach his jaw. They were old and healed, but they were still very prominent.

Boost seemed to notice his scrutiny but didn't appear bothered by it. He turned his head a little as he stopped at the bed side so that Sol could see the scars clearer. "Geonosis; never remove your helmet on a battle field...shiny mistake, but not one I'll ever make again." He dumped the bag on to the mattress and pulled out Sol's fatigues. "The Commander wants to see you, so we'd better get some clothes on you. Did you get a wash?"

Sol gave a grunt of amusement, despite the icy feeling at the pit of his stomach. _If the commander wanted to see him he probably had some explaining to do. Did you get a second transfer? _ "I got the head to toe scrub from a med droid…the kind that nearly takes your skin off but leaves you feeling no cleaner." He managed to keep the note of humour in his tone despite his frustration. "I guess I pass as 'clean' though if the droid was satisfied." He reached behind his back to pull free the knots holding his sling shut. _Stupid droid didn't seem to realise he needed to get dressed before it bound the limb. You'd never be able to replace a living medic with machines._

Boost gave him a hand to dress, helping to re-sling his arm for him. He had a practiced ease that told Sol he was used to helping others. "Didn't you have any help? No brothers waiting for you?" He looked perplexed by the concept of waking alone after a stint in the tanks. _It just wasn't done_. Someone was always there to have your back when you were down.

Sol ducked his head and forced a smile. "It's no big deal. It was just a scratch really – only half a day in the tank. There's been a lot worse coming in." He was acutely aware of why none of his squad had been waiting for him. In fact, if they had been waiting for him he would have been scared. It was just nice to have someone come and help him dress. He slowly slipped off the bed to test his legs and was pleased to find that his strength wasn't badly affected by the time in the tank. He was a little stiff and weak, but that was to be expected. "I'd best not keep the commander waiting…will he be in his office?"

Boost shook his head, hovering close just in case Sol's confidence in his strength was premature. "He's not actually on duty right now; he just wanted to see you as soon as possible. He's in his room; it's just along the hall from my squad's room so I'll walk with you." He placed a hand on Sol's shoulder to guide him towards the hall. "…but I'm not taking responsibility for sneaking you out the medbay…I've got to share a rack with Ghost and he'll make my life a misery if he thinks I'm up to anything like that. I swear he already treads on me deliberately when he comes off shift and claims I'm snoring too much. For someone so delicate with stitches and needles, he can't seem to control his own feet when clambering on to his bunk…"

Sol let himself fall in to step with the outgoing trooper, enjoying the feeling of friendly conversation washing over him. He was happy to let Boost ramble on the entire way because nobody else ever said more than an abrupt sentence at him, unless it was to insult him. He was almost disappointed when the trooper came to a halt at his own door.

"You'll find the commander's room three doors up." Boost gave him a friendly pat on the back. "Don't worry, he doesn't bite."

Sol gave him a smile of thanks and continued down the hall alone to knock on the door. Now that he was alone he felt his stomach sinking. _What was going to happen to him?_

Wolffe opened the door and ushered him inside, motioning for him to take a seat. "Thanks for coming, Sol, I take it Boost snuck you out?" He raised an eyebrow and grinned when the medic nodded. "…he's good at things like that. It's a handy skill to have, although Ghost may not agree with that view." He sat down on the edge of his bunk, knotting his fingers together and observing the other man with his good eye.

Sol didn't know whether he was being put under some test or whether he was expected to say something. He sat quietly, trying to keep his eye line at least in the general direction of the commander. His heart was hammering in his chest and making him feel nauseous, which was not how he wanted to be when being put under scrutiny.

Wolffe let his hands drop in to his lap again and cocked his head slightly. "Ghost told me that you were shot from behind." He seemed to be watching for the medic's reactions. "He also told me that he thinks it was your squad that were shooting dangerously close to you; that it was one of them who shot you. Is that true?"

Sol's heart skipped a beat and he was sure that his face gave it all away. Ghost was observant but then medic's had to be. He took a few steadying breaths. "I don't know, sir. It can be hard to tell exactly where a shot came from. I was so busy tending the injured that I may have turned by back towards the enemy without realising." His stomach was turning somersaults. "I didn't know anything until it hit my shoulder." _That was true; he had been too busy to notice whether he was becoming someone's target._

Wolffe stood up and paced quietly around the small room, passing to stand behind his trooper. He knew that Ghost didn't ever exaggerate anything, but if Sol didn't help him out here, he had nothing to go by but word of mouth. "Ghost was pretty clear with what he saw. You had your back to the trooper lines so the shot must have come from our side?"

Sol took a deep breath, fighting with his churning stomach. Every fibre of his being was telling him to get away and run. If he said a word he would definitely be signing his own death warrant. They might get him on the next battlefield, but if he gave away anything that incriminated Venn he would be taken to some dark corner of the ship…it wouldn't be quick.

Wolffe was still standing behind him, just behind and to the left. "You were crying when they pulled you to safety." He could see the tension across the medic's shoulders and the subconscious clenching and unclenching of his hands. _He was terrified…what was scaring him so much? _Wolffe agreed with Ghost's observations, but in the confusion of the retreat it had been hard to tell exactly what was going on. The whole assault had been a mess. He had seen the medic go down with a shot and his suspicions had been further aroused when his squad left him. No clone left a brother behind…it was an ingrained closeness between the men that made them such a good fighting unit.

Sol was losing his battle with his stomach and Wolffe standing over him wasn't helping matters. He shifted in the chair, wiping his sweaty palms on his fatigues. "Sir..." He swallowed audibly. "Sir, my apologies but could I…"

Wolffe stepped forward to place a hand on his shoulder in support. "Of course." He let his hand drop away as Sol lurched to his feet and disappeared in to the small 'fresher, the door hissing shut behind him. He turned and lifted an untouched bottle of water from his desk, twisting off the cap and pouring a glass, ready for his return. He continued to pace the small room until he returned. He let Sol settle down again on the chair then pressed the glass in to his hand. He felt guilty for making the trooper so distressed but he needed information if he were to take anything forward.

Sol closed his eyes and took a few sips of the cool water; embarrassed by his whole display. "Sorry, sir…" He took a few more breaths before returning to the original question. "I don't know what was happening around me. I don't know anything apart from being injured and pulled to safety by Boost and Ghost. That's all, sir." He didn't open his eyes; scared that he would be under Wolffe's terrifying glare.

There was silence for a few moments until the sound of the bunk creaking made him look up.

Wolffe had sat back down again with a defeated look on his face. "I'm moving you to a different squad, Sol. Regardless of what happened; there are definitely issues with your current placement. You're now appointed to Sergeant Sinker. You already know Boost and Ghost. We're being sent on a relief mission but Ghost has informed me that you won't be fit for service for another few weeks. We shouldn't be away for long – we're just dropping disaster relief supplies and getting them set up – but will remain on the ship." He paused for a moment to watch the expressions that were crossing the medic's face. He looked both relieved and scared at the same time. Whatever was going on, he was determined to get to the bottom of it, but right now he couldn't push Sol any further. "Boost has already collected your kit so you don't need to return to your original barracks – you can go and join your new squad now; they'll have a bunk made up ready for you. This squad usually works directly with me but you've got the required skills and you'll fit in fine."

Sol sat stock still, trying to take in what he was being told. It seemed like he was getting praise when he was expecting trouble. "Sir?" He looked up in to Wolffe's mismatched eyes, finally daring to meet them without complete fear.

There was a knock at the door and Wolffe answered.

Boost stood in the doorway with a silly grin on his face. "Can I take him and tuck him in now, sir? Ghost's going spare…"

A smile had crept on to Wolffe's otherwise fierce face. Despite his imposing presence, he seemed to have a good relationship with his brothers. "Remind him it was my idea – and a commander is never wrong."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Wow...productivity at it's finest. I think that's four chapters in as many days. For some reason I imagine Boost as Theo Rossi - I think it's the hair when he's in SOA but even without that. I get weird connections like that. First Vau is Nikolai [Viggo Mortensen, Eastern Promises] and now Boost is Theo Rossi. Oh well... ~ Atin<strong>_


	5. Chapter 5

Sol enjoyed four days in the company of his new squad before they disembarked to head down the complete their mercy mission.

He was ambushed on his return from the hanger bay and pulled out of sight. He'd been expecting it the moment he stepped away from his new found friends but it had been worth the risk to see them off on their mission. He was served a black eye for his trouble and was supremely glad that he was alone in the barracks because it was hard to explain away visible marks...he couldn't go round with his helmet on all the time.

Venn seemed to have realised his mistake and any other passing thump delivered over the proceeding days was to unarmoured, but covered, body parts.

Sol felt he came out of it quite well; apart from one solid bruise from a stomp on his chest that he was sure had cracked a rib, it had all been relatively quick and comparatively painless and his squad were back quicker than anticipated.

Ghost had collared him on their first night back and questioned him over the faded bruise on his cheekbone. He wasn't happy with Sol's answer - that he tripped and hit his head on the edge of the bunk - but apart from fussing over it with bacta spray, there was nothing he could do to push the point.

Sol had felt guilty for lying to a fellow medic, especially to the one who had saved his life, but to fair he'd had to work pretty hard to do so and felt he got some points on that count. Ghost had the most startling appearance; he had a mutation which gave him white blonde hair and piercing pale blue eyes. He also had a paler skin tone than the rest of his brothers and it was easy to see how he'd got his name. All in all, it gave him an extremely intense stare and made it all the harder for Sol to keep his lie strong.

He was pleased to have their company again and settled in to the friendly routine with pleasure. Wolffe would often join them in the downtime; Sol had learned that Sinker and Boost were two of his closest brothers - all that remained of the original Wolfpack. He was a good commander and Sol enjoyed having his company as well as the squads.

He had regained pretty much full use of his arm by the time they were reunited, but he was still forced to stay off duty for few more days by Ghost. He knew better than to argue with a medic so he was sitting alone in the squad room when the message flashed up on their console.

He swung himself upright and crossed the room to receive it, recognising one of the bridge crew by their uniform.

They were looking for Commander Wolffe. He hadn't been seen yet despite being expected around the bridge at this time of day. It was obviously known that Wolffe spent time with this squad so this was the first port of call to track him down.

Sol hadn't seen him the night before, which was unusual, but he had plenty free time to assist.

"I'll find him and report back. I'm not on duty just now."

_'We have a new mission briefing waiting for him._'

Sol nodded, running a hand through his wayward hair in an attempt to tidy himself up before hunting down his superior. "Okay, I'll find him, sir."

The hologram vanished and left him alone again, contemplating where to start his search. It seemed logical to go to his room but if he was in his room then why wasn't he answering his comm?

He decided to try his room, knocking lightly and waiting for an answer but one was not forthcoming. He hesitated for a second before pushing the door controls and stepping inside.

Wolffe was still in bed, stretched out on his side facing the wall. He seemed to be well asleep; not disturbed by the sound of his door opening.

Sol tapped him lightly on the shoulder to wake him, but it had little effect. "Commander?" He shook him more violently, having to be quite forceful to drag him from his sleep. "Sir, are you okay?"

Wolffe blinked a few times, flinching at the insistent pain in his head. He was feeling more than a little confused. _Why was he being woken up? He'd only just managed to get some sleep._ He rolled over on to his back to look up at the medic. "Was'wrong?"

Sol squatted down at the side of the bed, one hand on the frame for balance. "You're meant to be on duty, sir. Bridge crew are looking for you. Are you okay?" He was a little concerned with how sluggish his normally alert commander appeared. "Did you take anything to help you sleep?"

Realisation slowly dawned across Wolffe's face and he launched himself out of bed in a clumsy movement. "Fek, Sol, what time is it?" He collapsed back down on to the edge of the mattress with a hand on his head, trying to make himself see straight. His head at been so sore all day and the stabbing pain had kept him awake for hours. Sometimes his sight was perfect but then it would blur without warning. He was fed up stumbling or catching his hip on something that he'd failed to see. He couldn't put much trust in his peripheral vision on the cybernetic side when it was playing up. He didn't know if the pain was the reason for his problems or a by-product. Either way it made it no easier. He dredged up the memories of a few hours ago. "I found out the name of the sedative you gave me and I acquired some. I needed to get some sleep..."

Sol looked horrified. "...but sir, I've been giving you a tiny dose of that. The normal dose is more like a tranquiliser shot. That's why I wasn't using premeasured syringes!" He stood up slowly and sat down beside him, trying to take his pulse without disturbing him. "You could have called me. I would have helped you. I'm surprised you're even upright after that much."

Wolffe let the medic take his wrist for long enough to count his pulse then forced himself off the bed with a grunt of pain. "I've got to get up to the bridge...I need a shower...need to wake up." He was moving, but more out of desperation than true wakefulness. He felt like he'd been awake for days.

Sol stood up and brushed his fatigues straight. "I may have something that'll help. Just give me a moment, sir."

He left, leaving Wolffe alone.

He dragged himself in to the 'fresher to relieve himself, having to prop himself against the wall to prevent himself swaying. It was as if he'd been on a heavy drinking session yet he was stone cold sober. He stood there for a long moment, his body willing to sleep on its feet if necessary before he rallied and forced himself to pull his fatigues off and step in to the shower.

He was too tired to stand so he let himself slide down the wall to sit on the floor, turning the temperature right down to make the water freezing. Normally it was as good way of making sure he was alert and ready for whatever the day could throw at him, but now he just shivered.

He didn't realise that Sol had returned until the water temperature returned to warm and he looked up to see him standing just outside of the reach of the spray.

"C'mon, sir, let me give you this. There isn't a reversal agent for that sedative but this should help you a bit." Sol knelt by his side, ignoring the spray that soaked him. He held a full syringe in his hand but he stopped short of injecting it. "Sir, wherever we're being sent, I want to come too. Please don't leave me on the ship. I want to go with the rest of the squad." He indicated his arm which he was using to hold Wolffe's arm steady. "I'm fine...I don't need any more time to heal..."

Wolffe wanted to quiz him but he was in no fit state so he just nodded. "Wherever we go, you will come too." He watched Sol inject the syringe, waiting to see if he'd get that warm buzz that you would with a stim, but there was no change in feeling.

Sol leant back and disposed of the syringe. "It takes about ten minutes to have any decent affect. Let's just get you ready and by the time it kicks in, you'll be washed and ready to go, okay?" He stood up and held out a hand to haul the commander back to his feet. He watched Wolffe struggle for a moment before stepping forward again and placing a hand on his shoulder to turn him.

He filled his hands with soap and helped to wash the areas his commander was too tired to reach. He enjoyed lavishing attention on the muscles of Wolffe's broad shoulders. There was nothing soft and gentle in the older man's body; it was all firm muscle and angular lines. He had to mentally chastise himself and step back while he finished washing, having exhausted the areas he could legitimately help with. It wasn't until Wolffe reached for the fixed blade razor that he moved forward again. "Eh, sir..."

Wolffe was starting to feel the new drug waking him up and he felt more in control of his own actions again. "I could shave in the dark, with a vibroblade...I'm okay."

Sol shook his head and coaxed the blade from his hands. "I believe you, but let me help you this time. It's sharp and you're under the influence of two conflicting drugs."

Wolffe didn't put up much of an arguement; he appreciated the care that the medic showed.

Sol had never shaved anyone else and it was a strangely intimate act that was over far too quickly. He ran a hand over Wolffe's jaw to check for missed stubble then return to blade to its shelf. "There...once you've got your armour on you'll be your normal self. How are you feeling now?"

Wolffe considered the question for a moment, reaching for his towel to dry off. "...nearly human again."

Sol rubbed a towel over his wet fatigues; knowing that he must look ridiculous...just as if he'd stood in a shower fully dressed. "I was reading something about the use of optical cybernetics and I have an idea of a drug combination that may help you with the pain. I don't think now is the time but when you have a free moment I'll show you what I mean." He gave a slight smile and followed him out to the bedroom. "You've got enough medication in your veins right now; it wouldn't be a fair test." He stood quietly while Wolffe dressed himself, staring at the opposite corner of the room out of politeness.

A few minutes later, a fully armoured Wolffe came to a halt in front of him. The commander reached out a hand and gently touched the bruise on his cheek.

Sol cringed inwardly, ready to repeat his story over again, but Wolffe never said anything; instead he ran the pad of his thumb in a gentle, stroking motion over the discoloured skin, making Sol sigh and close his eyes - enjoying the affectionate touch.

"Thank you, Sol, for everything."

* * *

><p><strong><em>...wet, soapy Wolffe! ~ Atin<em>**


	6. Chapter 6

Venn stood with the rest of his squad in the hanger bay waiting to board a gunship. He was watching the good natured banter going on in Sergeant Sinker's squad.

Boost seemed to have the ability to bring humour to every scenario and was keeping the morale up even as they waited to descend into a battle. Sol stood among them, smiling and joining in the jokes.

That wasn't fair. Why did a transfer trooper get to join such a favourable squad?

Venn felt the bitter taste of jealously and ducked his head to stare at the deck. Never mind - someone would get Sol soon enough, it was only a matter of time.

A tiny voice in the back of his head spoke up, unwanted and feared. Who will they pick on when Sol's gone? _Not me; I'll make sure it's not me_. If you strike first you are likely to succeed in shocking the other party so much that they don't fight back. If you can establish a dominant role in these moments of confusion then you're set up again. Better to be admiring for dishing out punishment than be the one having to take it.

_He looks stupid anyway, standing there in plain armour among an experienced group - everyone will know he doesn't belong. Nobody trusts a shiny medic._

* * *

><p>It was a pretty planet to be landed on - well, it would be a pretty if it weren't for the carnage currently taking over the landscape. The beautiful, vibrant plant life had taken on a distinctly charred appearance from the continual hail of explosives and any animal life was long gone. Yet another ecosystem that would be left scraping itself back together when the conflict left. It was easy to think of the battle and forget about the after affects, but on such a beautiful planet it was harder to pretend it didn't matter.<p>

Sol stuck close to his new squad as the dodged and ducked through the vines and creepers hanging from trees. A huge blast of earth and fire hit to their left and they all dropped low on instinct. Sol unfolded slowly, scanning around and moving quickly to a brother who hadn't risen yet.

A second wave of explosions landed even closer to them, the shock waves rippling through the ground with ominous rumbles. An area of unstable ground crumbled to their left and they all had to scramble to get away on to stronger ground. Sol dragged his stunned patient with him, shouting encouragement at him, and then depositing him where Ghost was treating injuries.

Wolffe prowled around the perimeter of this zone, trying to think of a way to get past the artillery bombardment. They couldn't get close enough to the enemy to do any damage themselves; in fact they couldn't even see the enemy.

He was glad to be back on a battlefield again after their mercy mission but with it came the pressure to perform despite his own body trying to punch him down. He was squinting around him, having tried fiddling with every HUD setting possible and found no success in improving his sight. He could scan the trees around him and get sudden peaks and troughs in how much he could see and the cutting in and out of the clarity of the cybernetic often left blind points in his vision, meaning he felt he had to look everything over twice to ensure he hadn't missed something important. He knew that Sol was watching him with that medic's attention and he was sure that Ghost was giving him more looks as well. He felt an overwhelming pressure to perform now that he felt his men's confidence in him could be weakened. His men should not be watching him; they should be watching the enemy and keeping themselves safe.

He heard a warning from the perimeter just as another rush of explosions rained down. The force of the vibrations was enough to knock them all from their feet and the flash of light brought a stabbing pain through Wolffe's head. He tried to stand up and move but the pain was blinding and made him too dizzy to shift. He knew that if he stayed down for too long it would look like he was injured.

Sol called out to him, 'commander', but he couldn't reply yet and did his best to raise a hand to give a gesture to show he was unhurt.

Instead of quelling the concerned noises, they increased; he could hear Sinker and Boost both shouting at him to get up. _Just give me a moment until the scenery stops spinning._ The ground around him shifted and he had a heart-in-mouth moment as he realised the vibrations were opening up a fissure in the ground. His first thought was for his troops. "Get back! Move!" He growled under his breath, trying to shake his head clear of the pain, squeezing his eyes tightly shut in the hope of doing some sort of mental 'reboot'.

He could feel the ground moving under him, shaking and twisting. Fek...this wasn't helping him straighten his vision out.

He had his eyes screwed shut, trying to feel his way forward when he felt someone grab him by the biceps. It was the grip of a medic and he knew without looking who it was. He opened his mouth to yell at him but there was another heaving shift of the rock under his body and Sol was knocked to his knees beside him. He made a final effort to shove the medic away but the cracking motion rippled through the rock strata below them and suddenly they were falling.

The instant thought going through his head was the impact; he was waiting for the inevitable pain when they hit whatever substrate lay below this surface fault - but instead of an impact, they got a splash. They surfaced together in a rapidly moving underground river.

For a few moments, it seemed like a saviour but it soon carried them away from these open areas and quickly became a tunnel. They were completely submerged, struggling to do anything but let themselves be dragged along in the swirling current.

After a few minutes of this claustrophobic terror the tunnel increased in height and they were able to surface. Wolffe managed to get his own helmet lamps on to provide some light, reaching out in the darkness for his brother.

Sol was floundering in the water, wrenching at his helmet in an attempt to pull it off. Somehow he had cracked it off a rock on the descent and the seal wasn't holding. Instead of providing him with a sealed environment, it was letting in water and had started to fill. He managed to yank it off one handed and gulp in a few mouthfuls of dank air.

Wolffe grabbed at him, wanting to shout at him to put the helmet on; he had no idea why he'd removed it, but the tunnel was decreasing again and they were moments away from becoming submerged again for an unknown period of time. There wasn't time to shout and berate him. "Breathe!"

He did his best to protecting him as they were sucked under water again and buffeted off the tunnel walls.

It seemed to go on for ever and he felt Sol's movements weakening. By the time the tunnel opened up again the medic had gone completely still.

There was a dim glow of light and now he could see an edge to the river; an opportunity to get out on to the rocks. They were still deep underground but there was a light source hundreds of meters above them where a fissure in the rock allowed some sunlight in to this subterranean maze. Wolffe gripped Sol and swam hard against the dragging current to get to the edge, pulling Sol up on to the rocks beside him.

The medic was completely still with a bluish tint to his lips.

Wolffe pulled his own helmet off and began to yank Sol's chest armour away from his body, actually breaking one of the clasps in his rush. With these torso plates removed and kicked away, he was able to run his fingers along the seams in the under suit to pry it away from his chest.

He was running on ingrained training from his years on Kamino...he'd never had to actually treat a drowning victim before and that realisation almost terrified him to a standstill. It wasn't in the commander's nature to be anything but perfect at every task he set his mind to.

He reached in to his own med kit, pleased that the seals had held up to the rough journey, and stabbed an adrenaline injection straight in to the muscles of Sol's chest. He hated administering and receiving injections, although he had found Sol's gentle approach with a true needle rather than a stabbing hypospray to be much more bearable. He didn't have time to linger on his own squeamishness though and he carefully positioned the medic to open up his airway as much as possible.

Rescue breathing; another skill he only had in his bank of theory skills. This was not the time to panic. Ghost had always ensured that they kept their skills up so it shouldn't be a terrifying issue -the theory should be more than enough to get him through.

The devastating loss of his Wolfpack in those early stages of the war had moulded Wolffe in to the commander he was today. He ensured that everyone, from himself right down to the newest shiny, kept up to date with every scrap of training and improvements. They would _not_ lose brothers unnecessarily. Every life mattered. And nobody argued about the extra hours spent putting in that 110%. _He knew how to do this. He was not going to be the weak link in the chain. _

He took a steadying breath then began to run through his moves from memory. Sol's lips were so cold against his own as he breathed air in to his lungs, watching to see his chest rise. He felt his own chest tightening in fear as he waited between breaths, desperate to see him take a breath himself.

He kept repeating the breaths, whispering encouragement between each in the hope that someone it might help. He was beginning to lose hope when Sol took a shuddering breath that was cut off almost instantly as he jerked and vomited.

Wolffe had been half ready for this and turned him on to his side, supporting him so that he was comfortable but wouldn't choke. He was so relieved that he let his own head come down to rest on the medic's shoulder, feeling every gasp, heave and cough that rippled through the body in his arms. He never thought he'd be so happy to see someone throw up everywhere and the exhausted part of him laughed, because it was either laugh or cry at this stage.

If anything had happened to the medic it would have been Wolffe's fault; more blood on his hands. He sent men in to battle nearly every day and he made that okay in his mind by giving them the best training and instruction he could; he gave them every chance to live, but Sol had risked his own life in an attempt to help Wolffe. If it weren't for _his_ eye, for his failing vision, none of this would have happened. They wouldn't be in this force forsaken cave, alone, with no means of escape.

He wrapped an arm around Sol, feeling him grip his arm with cold hands, still coughing and wheezing as he got his breath. "It's okay, verd'ika, I've got you, Sol." He didn't realise it, but he was rocking gently. Nobody had ever rocked them as babies; nobody had held them, hugged them, loved them, but for some reason his body was doing this without needing to consult his brain. "We're going to get out of here. It's all going to be okay, vod'ika, trust me."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Next chapter will pick up pretty much from here again - but wanted to break it in to two parts. Wolffe's frantic panic here and then we will return to the 'what's going to happenhow are they going to get out/how is Sol' etc, next time. ~ Atin**_


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Sol eventually found the strength to sit upright. He was shivering violently and still felt like he had a bellyful of water despite having spent the preceding minutes spewing what felt like a whole river's worth all over himself and, shamefully he thought, probably his commander too before he'd got the strength to hold himself in position. He shuffled miserably, trying to get a good look at his commander in the dim light available. "Are you okay, sir?" He was searching his face for signs of pain, wanting to reach out and touch, but knowing he shouldn't. "It was your cybernetic, wasn't it?"

Wolffe sighed, shaking his head. "Sol, vod'ika, shut up and relax. Don't worry about me." He began to rummage through the medic's backpack, pulling out the thermal blanket. "Forget about being a medic for now and let me get you dried and warmed up. You'll catch your death if you sit there shivering in that wet kit." He'd put the sealed kit through a good test in all those waterlogged tunnels and come out dry, but without his helmet, Sol had ended up with completely soaked. The under suit was waterproof but if the neck wasn't sealed to the helmet it allowed water to get down between his skin and the material. The suit would dry out quickly when opened up and laid out flat; all kit was designed to be quick to dry again after cleaning.

"...but, sir..."

Wolffe reached out and gripped Sol's chin with a gloved hand, forcing him to meet his eyes. "I can make it an order, if required..." He let go when the medic nodded weakly in agreement. "C'mon then, let's get away from the water edge in case we get a surge." He gripped Sol under his arms and dragged him back towards the cave wall then retrieved the bits of armour and pack.

He began the systematic process of removing each piece of armour and set them all to the side. What had started out as shiny white plastoid was now detailed with scrapes and dull areas. Armour didn't stay shiny for long, but then neither did the men wearing it. War etched away much of a person's 'shine'...it took a strong will to walk in to battle time and time again.

When he began to release the seams of the suit, Sol made moves to try to stop him. The air in the cave was cold and he already felt it on the area of his chest that had been exposed for injection. He had no desire to expose any more flesh to the chill.

Wolffe paused and let him feel the blanket; the small heat sources built in to the material made it warm and cosy. He then returned to his task, but for every bit of suit removed, he ensured that the blanket was adjusted accordingly. When he had it all off he laid it out flat on the rocks to dry.

Sol had curled himself up as small as possible, looking particularly bedraggled and pathetic. The one luxury of life as a clone trooper was the ambient control of the suit; generally it helped keep you running at a nice temperature. Even after a cold shower you could climb back in to your kit and relish the toasty warmth...you rarely ended up shivering with cold, but here he was chilled to the bone and miserable.

Wolffe took out a canister of bacta spray and began to systematically check him over for injuries. He had been lucky, considering how vulnerable he had been without the protection of the helmet; the only facial injury he'd received was a cut at his hairline. Wolffe gently pushed the hair away from the wound and sprayed a liberal dose of bacta on the skin. It would heal up fine. It was probably deep enough to scar, but Sol already had a few scars on his face from shrapnel wounds; too often a medic took the risk of removing his helmet to treat a brother on the battle field and with that choice they opened themselves up to an increased risk of injury. Shrapnel could puncture the body suit in areas unprotected by armour plate, so pretty much every clone had some degree of shrapnel injury on their torso. Ghost had even unintentionally tested the breaking point of the plastoid and taken a shard of durasteel below his ribs, completely penetrating the plate. They had nearly lost the young medic that day and it was only by good luck that the injury occurred when they had the means of evacuating immediately. Kohl had fought to keep his brother alive until the larty landed and it seemed someone was watching over Ghost that day because he was still alive when the troops returned to the ship themselves. He needed an extended dip in bacta and treatment on Ord Cestus, but he pulled through, and the scar was a good talking point; a way of terrifying shinies and making them respect the dangers of debris just as much as they respected the enemy fire.

Sol squirmed in discomfort as his commander checked him over, self-conscious of the bruising inflicted by Venn. He was dreading being questioned on it and took every opportunity to tuck more of the blanket around himself. He was doing his best to think of some way to distract him, but fortunately the bleeping of Wolffe's commlink interrupted them and saved him the bother. Instead he shuffled back against the wall, pulled his knees up to his chest and curled himself in, tucking his head down against his knees. It tried to listen to what was being discussed but he just wanted to curl up and go to sleep. The medic in him knew that this wasn't a good idea so he fumbled in his med kit for a stim shot. The drug gave him a little dash of energy that helped him stave off the desire to sleep and he was feeling a little more coherent when Wolffe sat back down beside him. He turned his head to watch him, taking in the lines of stress on his face and the slight frown that meant he was in pain. "I can give you some pain relief, sir."

Wolffe started, seemingly miles away in his own thoughts. He recovered himself and shook his head, although the movement made him wince. "I'm fine. We're looking after you right now, remember?" He reached for the medkit but the warp in his vision meant he missed and knocked it all over instead. He leapt to grab it all before it spilled across the rock, swearing loudly; the faster he moved, the more his head hurt and he let Sol pull him down to sit against the wall by his side. "Just give me a moment..."

Sol sat quietly, watching him with a raised eyebrow.

Wolffe blinked hard then turned to glower at him. "D'you medic's realise you have this expression that you wear when you know you're right?" He let the glower soften into a near smile. "I've never met a normal trooper who could match it. Do they teach you that in training?"

Sol felt his unknown 'medic's expression' becoming a tired grin. He knew the exact expression he meant but he hadn't realised that he could pull it himself. He reached for his kit and carefully measured up a syringe of pain relief. "Get those plates off and let me give you this. It'll ease your headache." He knelt and crawled stiffly to sit in front of his commander, nudging his leg to the side so that he could sit between his knees and administer the pain relief in to the vein in his forearm. "If you tell me what problems you're having, aside from the pain, and I'll start putting together a plan to help you."

He put the needle away and paused, tilting his head forward and rocking gently in an attempt to ride out the nausea. Next time he swallowed half a river he wanted it to be a crystal clear Naboo spring! He fumbled in the pack for a premeasured antiemetic and handed it to Wolffe, pulling away a corner of his blanket and offering his bicep as an injection site. "...can't self-administer..."

Wolffe pulled him closer, wiping over the skin with a cleanser and pressing the hypo into the muscle. He murmured a soft apology when the medic winced. "Imagine that, capable of dealing with the most gruesome of injuries on a daily basis, yet unable to stick something in themselves! You're a strange lot you medics." He hesitated for a moment then coaxed the miserable trooper those final few inches and encouraged him to lean against his chest with a firm arm around his shoulders.

Sol tensed but then accepted the comfort and allowed himself to rest against the unyielding armour plates. He wanted to do his bit for medics everywhere and point out that most of them were pretty good at self-medicating; he'd even watched with fascination when Kohl had stitched up a wound on his own thigh, but he was feeling too out of sorts to bother trying to explain it. He had no problem watching this, but the thought of doing that himself on his own skin turned his stomach. Somehow a huge line was drawn when it was his own flesh. Instead he tried to return to his original point. "Problems, commander? Dizziness...variable sight?"

Wolffe shifted against the rock wall behind him, pulling his helmet closer and angling the light so that they had some degree of visibility. He didn't want to sit here discussing his inadequacies, but he realised it could be used to his advantage. "They're bringing in an air attack. If they can get the area cleared they can then locate us and hopefully work out a means to get us out through that opening up there." He hoped that clarifying their potential safe escape would help calm medic and make his life a lot easier. "How about we say that, while we're stuck down here, we are no longer commander and medic; we are just men? I'll answer your question if you answer mine."

Sol had a bad feeling as to where this conversation was going, but he needed more information about the cybernetic to be able to draft a plan of treatment. "Okay…" He curled himself up within his blanket, making sure to get his cold toes tucked in under himself. He felt odd leaning up against his commander's chest but since they were just being men for now he supposed it wasn't inappropriate. If it were any other brother it wouldn't seem so strange, but the commander was an untouchable rank. "What problems have you had?"

Wolffe nodded, accepting that he had to show willing and answer first. "Semi-blindness, blurring and warped vision, accompanied by dizziness, nausea and headaches which range from inconvenient to incapacitating." It sounded bad when he brought it all together in to one list.

Sol appeared to be giving this some thought before he replied. "How regularly?"

"Ehm…" Wolffe started to think about how he could put this to make it sound best. "It depends. Sometimes only one of those, always the sore head to some degree, and the rest comes and goes as it feels." He sat up slightly and let his hands slide down Sol's arms to rest at his elbows. "My turn now."

He gently pulled aside the corner of the blanket and motioned to the patches of bruising on the medic's torso. "What happened here?" He could feel the silence between them; it was as if a shutter had come down.

Sol shook his head, mumbling indistinctly. There was no way he could answer that without earning himself a whole new level of suffering. "Sir…I told you before; I fell." It even sounded like a lie to his own ears. He pushed himself upright, preparing to move away but Wolffe had him boxed in with his leg curled in to keep him corralled.

"Did you fall on someone's boot?" Wolffe tugged aside the blanket and touched one of the darkest bruises. It was a perfect representation of the sole of a troopers boot. He kept his touch light but it was still enough to make Sol wince. "Broken ribs underneath, I'd guess…wouldn't take a medic to make that assumption." He took Sol's arm and pulled him back against his chest. "If you tell me who did it I promise he will be unable to take any revenge."

Sol allowed himself to be brought back against the armour, letting his cheek rest against Wolffe's shoulder. He believed him; he knew that the commander was capable of preventing Venn from getting any attack in every again, but it wouldn't stop the next brother from taking up the cause. There was always someone willing to make themselves the dominant character. He didn't reply; scared that his voice would tremble. He could feel the sting of tears in his eyes and was glad of the darkness. He could cry without Wolffe noticing as long as…"

"I can feel every breath, Sol'ika…" Wolffe rubbed his hand soothingly over his brother's back, going gently because he knew there was a tapestry of bruises. He wanted to question him further but it was enough just to know that something was happening. He could work on getting more information when they were out of this mess.

He sat quietly, listening to the noise of the river and the quieter sound of Sol's sobs, suddenly feeling the weight of the situation on his shoulders. _He came to your aid, he tried to rescue you, and you're making him so uncomfortable that he's brought to tears._ He let his free hand come to a cautious halt on the medic's raised knees; holding the curled body tight against him, still ensuring that the blanket was fully covering him. He dropped his head and let his cheek rest on Sol's wet hair. "It'll be okay, vod'ika. Let me help you and I promise you it'll be okay." Without names, he was helpless, but he could do his best to monitor every movement around the gentle little medic.

And at least, for the next few hours, he was safe from every unkindness that he could ever fear, and in that thought, Wolffe realised the error in his attempts to drag more information from him. This was the one moment where he could be free. When they were rescued and returned to the ship it would not be the return to safety that it should be for Sol; it would be a return to more pain and torment, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Sol curled in tighter, reaching up to wipe away the tears that were tickling as they ran down his nose. He sorely wanted to tell everything. He felt safe here, and he felt safe with his squad, but there would still be a moment where he could be hurt. And if his new friends ever found out what he'd done to earn transfer, he'd find himself completely alone again, and he couldn't face having that happen. The thought of losing those friends he had made; Boost, Sinker, Ghost and his other fellow medics…Wolffe, made him dissolve in to fresh waves of silent tears. "I can't, sir…I'm so sorry…"

Wolffe held him tighter, feeling ever gasp and tremble. "It's okay, just take it easy." He glanced at the chrono and tried to calculate how long it would take for the air attack to get through. _Probably not all that long_. He had no idea how long it would take for his men to find their location and decide upon a plan of extraction, but what he did know was that it would feel like the longest hours of his life, and to Sol, the shortest.

* * *

><p>It took the Wolfpack just short of thirteen hours to complete an extraction.<p>

The noise of the larty hovering above was music to Wolffe's ears and he watched with pride as two members of the pack were lowered through the crack in the roof of the cave. He recognised both by their armour markings; Ghost and Fixer.

Fixer had joined the Wolfpack as a Special Operations trooper after losing his entire squad on the same mission that had cost Wolffe his eye. By all sense he should have been reassigned by the Special Operations Brigade but he had asked if a place could be found for him among the pack and Wolffe had been more than happy to accept the man in to their ranks.

By the time their rescue had arrived, Sol was unconscious. His stim had worn off and he had passed out hours before help arrived. Ghost had checked them both over and ruled that they were to be taken straight to the medbay upon their return. It was the first time that Wolffe had ever gone willingly. He wanted to stay by Sol's side and ensure that he woke up safe and without terror. Maybe he could find a way to do something to help him, but for now the best he could do was be there to support him when he needed it.

* * *

><p><strong><em>AN: Fixer was a member of The Devil Dogs; a unit of the 44th Special Operations Division who feature in the comic 'In Service of the Republic'. I felt Fixer deserved a future. He was the only one of his squad to survive the Battle of Khorm. ~ Atin<em>**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

They had been back on the ship for four days when Sol's fine veneer and control came crashing to the ground. He had been declared fit to leave the medbay and join squad activities after one day of observation and he had launched himself back in to activities with his brothers. He took pleasure in spending time with them, both in training simulation and in the gym. He was become a perfect part of the squad and they were getting to the stage where they could function like the fingers of one hand; each unique but drawing together to complete each task.

The more times they ran the simulation the better they get. Sol had spent so much of his time purely as a medic and it had taken a day or so to learn how to fight as a soldier in the unit. He was so used to being on his hands and knees treated injuries from the first moments of any conflict that he hardly ever handled his weapon in anything but self-defence; he had to relearn the finer tactics of working with others in formation. He may rarely need to apply it in a real life scenario, but it helped him understand what his squad brothers were doing around him as he did his own work as a medic.

They were working in the gym, warming up for a run on the simulation, when Venn happened to brush past on his way towards the showers.

_"Trying to kill our commander - you're aiming high this time."_

Sol's body reacted before his brain caught up and he had turned on the trooper before he had a chance to react.

Ghost had been standing a few metres away and rushed to break them up. He was so shocked to find his gentle medic brother in a fight that it was all he could do to try to grab him and pull him away. It was far more than a scrap; Sol had grabbed Venn by the edges of his armour and slammed him so hard in to the wall that there was a smear of blood left on the durasteel. Venn had been so badly stunned that he was barely capable of protecting himself, never mind fight back. He had his arms up over his head, curled in a ball on the floor in an attempt to escape the onslaught.

Ghost attempted to pull Sol off him but was thrown backwards with so much power that he cracked his head on the floor and felt the room spin. A brief touch to the back of his head left his fingers covered in blood. He tried to get to his feet but Boost grabbed his shoulders and forced him to stay still on the floor.

Sinker was shouting at Sol, struggling to get a good hold of him but a blind fury seemed to have encompassed the medic and it was like trying to hold back a rancor. No amount of bellowing and yanking was going to make a difference.

Sol was completely engrossed in his attack. He could hardly feel his own body, never mind anything else going on around him. He felt his fists connect with Venn's unprotected face and neck, completely ignoring the pain when he hit solid plastoid.

He felt himself being physically lifted by two sets of arms and he was pressed up against the cold durasteel wall. It did nothing for the fire in his chest and he braced himself to push away from his captors.

Sinker and Wolffe struggled together to prevent Sol from breaking free and all three of them ended up on the floor. Sol managed to swipe Sinker's leg out and knock him away; seeming so desperate to reach Venn that he was willing to do anything, even at the risk of injuring his friends.

Wolffe managed to get the medic's arms pinned behind his back, using his heavier, armoured body to hold him down. It was still a battle; Sol was digging deep in to unprecedented levels of strength and was within a hair's width of throwing his commander from his back.

Sol could hear the words flying around above him.

_...medic...we need a medic..._

_...stun him..._

_...help the commander..._

He felt another body pressing down on his back and recognised the different armour as Fixer. Fixer was essentially a lone commando working within the Wolfpack and had chosen to keep his unique colouring as a mark of respect to his fallen brothers.

Sol got on well with this unusual comrade, and he had nothing but the highest respect for his commander, but that didn't stop him from trying to throw himself free of their combined grip.

He braced his hands against the floor and prepared to arch himself upwards with as much force as he could muster, but before he could make the move he felt the cold muzzle of one of Wolffe's DC-17s press between his shoulder blades and just caught the initial ring of the discharge before his body froze and his mind was catapulted in to darkness.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Ooh, Sol. I actually find myself feeling a little sorry for Venn, despite the fact he really deserves some payback. ~ Atin<strong>_


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

The first thing Sol felt as he began to regain consciousness was the sting of the burn on his back. A stun round at point blank range hurt...a lot. He'd never felt it from so close; any rounds as part of training sims hit from much further away. He still couldn't get his eyes open but it gave him a chance to gradually acclimatise.

He was lying in a position that was as close to the recovery position as possible to place someone who had their hands bound behind their back. He could also feel the chilled dampness down in the front of his fatigues and knew he had wet himself. The stun round was like an electric shock, making every muscle contract sharply. Usually it just knocked you out, but the bolt had been so strong it had had these additional embarrassing side effects. He could feel the thrumming discomfort in his chest as well, and the ache from his cracked ribs. He hadn't noticed the pain at the time but being pinned down under the two powerful men hadn't done much for his condition.

He had no idea how much time had passed or where he was, but as he pried his eyes open he realised that he had only been moved a few metres to a side room of the gym. The partition had been pulled across but not completely and he could see Fixer standing at the boundary with his back to him. Beyond that was an image of pandemonium. Venn still laid where he had fallen and much to Sol's vexation, Ghost was curled up on his side with Boost tending to him.

Fixer pulled himself upright and waved a casual salute as Wolffe stalked in, then hauled the partition across to completely block them in.

The shutting of that barrier made Sol's stomach freeze and he struggled to sit up, backing himself awkwardly against the wall. _Being locked in a room with a powerful commando and his superior could only mean one thing._ He surged to his feet, swaying on aching limbs until he got his balance on the wall behind. "S...Sir...?" He had his hands in front of him in a gesture that was both placating and protective; ready to fight back should he need to.

Wolffe shook his head and advanced with his hands held away from his body. "We're not going to hurt you, Sol." He took one of the medic's arms and indicated for Fixer to the same and together they helped him over to sit on a bench. He was doing his best to deal with what was going on but he still couldn't get his head around what had happened. Sol was one of the calmest and gentle men he'd ever met - to the point that he was actually vulnerable at points - and yet this persona had been completely obliterated in a fraction of a second.

Fixer returned to the partition and peeped around the edge. "They've moved him, sir." He glanced back, watching Sol staring straight through Wolffe at the partition. There was a haunted look in the medic's eyes.

Wolffe didn't seem to know what he wanted to do. He stalked angrily from one side of the small room to the other, going over and over what had happened in his head. If he hadn't witnessed it happen, he would never have believed it, and he had no idea how to resolve it. A simplistic view of the regs would say that Sol should be locked up, court martialled and, if it was a first offense, he may be transferred, but in this case the previous transfer would count against him. He had never read the full transfer file for Sol because he believed in giving men a chance to turn themselves around in their new position but now he felt he needed to go back and find out why he had been sent here. He needed to know all the facts before he decided what to do for the best. He wanted to take the terrified young trooper back to his room, get him washed and changed and calm him down, but he couldn't show favouritism like that. _He could do the next best thing though_. He turned to Fixer and beckoned him over. "Fix, take Sol to your room, please. Get him cleaned up, see to his wounds and keep him there. I'll be along once I've sorted out what's going on here." He walked over to where the commando stood at the opening and lowered his voice to barely audible, knowing that he would lip read. 'Don't come down on him like a storm; there's more to this than meets the eye, I think.'

Fixer gave a nod and raised an eyebrow at him, contemplating questioning the request but ultimately he had only seen Sol as a good trooper and he was surprised to see him doing anything negative. "Yes, sir." He wandered back to Sol and urged him to his feet with a hand under his elbow. "C'mon, vod'ika, let's get you sorted out."

Sol allowed himself to be led out in to the gym but when he saw Ghost he came to an abrupt halt, making Fixer collide with his back. He attempted to kneel by his side, but it was more of a graceless fall because of his bound arms hindering his balance. "Ghost...Ghost...vod, are you okay?" He desperately wanted to reach out and touch him but he couldn't do anything except bow his head against his brother's, whispering apologies over and over again.

Ghost reached up to stroke through the medic's hair, gripping the curve where the neck meets the shoulder to hold him still for a second before Fixer hefted him away. He followed the move with his eyes, still held down by Boost. "Easy, Sol'ika, I'm fine...I'm fine." He wasn't okay. Boost held him still because there was a white hot pain running down his neck and radiating through his shoulder. He knew that it was probably just a torn muscle but there was no sense in taking risks, not that Boost was going to let him. His brother's hands were secure and firm, one resting between Ghost's head and the floor, and the other on his shoulder to keep him steady. It wasn't the ideal position to immobilise someone in, but he'd already moved once before realising how much pain he was in and he didn't want to try to flatten himself out to rest on his back. Once Kohl had handed over Venn to those on duty in the medbay, he would return and scan Ghost's neck. It was just a matter of patience and a medic had patience by the bucket load.

* * *

><p>Fixer ushered Sol in to his room with a wave of his hand and locked it behind him. With the escape safely barred he was able to remove the binders from the medic's wrists and rub a little life back in to them. He gave him a glance over then motioned towards the 'fresher. "You'd best get a shower. I'll get you something to wear." He gave him a gentle nudge in the shoulder. "Go on. Shout if you need a hand."<p>

Sol walked in to the 'fresher in a daze, yanking off the soiled fatigues and stepping in to the shower. Normally he enjoyed a shower but now he just wanted to be in and out. He spent the bare minimum of time getting clean and was standing, dripping in the middle of the floor when Fixer poked his head in.

The commando gave him a quizzical look, and then stepped forward to drape a towel around his shoulders. "C'mon, Sol..." He didn't really know what to do with him, but he could see all the signs of a brother who was receding back into his own mind. It wasn't healthy but it was how he'd felt when he'd left every member of his squad on Khorm. He took his arm and led him through to the main room, taking out his medkit and a tube of bacta gel. "Don't go all quiet. If the commander thinks I let you go in to shock he'll never let me have a pet again..."

It was an attempt at humour and Sol's mouth twitched slightly, but he still stood unmoving.

Fixer let him stand where he wanted to but began the slow process of rubbing the salve on to each bruise, checking the condition of them all to ensure there were no broken bones. It was lucky in a way that Venn hadn't been able to return any blows; every new cut and bruise was from impact on Venn's plastoid armour, apart from the burn between his shoulders and the older, yellowing bruises. There didn't appear to be any broken bones, which was a small mercy but it wasn't the physical damage that was concerning Fixer.

Sol barely moved as he was treated, dried off, and offered only the barest of assistance as the commando dressed him in clean fatigues. He would have stood there naked if it weren't for the attention given to him. All he could think about was the fear of having lost control again.

He thought he'd turn his life around; everything was going so well, he loved his squad and the friendships he'd built, and now it was all going to be ripped from him again. You didn't get a third chance as a trooper. They might as well have shot him there on the gym floor because it would be a better death than being shipped back to Kamino in disgrace. His one duty was to die honourably in battle. Life as a trooper had little in the way of vast, overarching meanings and if you couldn't fulfil that small aim then you have lived for nothing. Nobody would remember him. He was just another number in the ranks of the Grand Army of the Republic. He should have stood on the battlefield and waited to be shot, but his conscience wouldn't allow him to neglect his duty as a medic. If they hadn't grabbed and dragged him through the mud...if Ghost hadn't saved his life, he'd be dead and then none of this would have happened. Suddenly his thoughts were running back to the present and he remembered his fellow medic. _He was hurt; he was just saving your feelings._ "Ghost...Ghost..."

Fixer grabbed a hold of him as he suddenly sprang to again. The door was locked and even if he let him go, he was going nowhere, but he kept a tight grip and forced him back against the wall. "Whoa, easy, brother!" He knew that the cogs were turning in the young medic's mind and that his brain would be flooding him with thoughts and images, none of which would be positive. He rallied his strength and dragged him bodily over to the bunk and they both collided with the mattress.

Sol sagged, staring up at the ceiling behind Fixer's head. The fight had gone from him just as quickly as it had arrived, but the tears were flowing now.

Fixer lifted his weight from him and sat on the bunk beside his prone body. He had no idea how you went about solving the pain for another brother but he was going to give it a damn good try. He took a few breaths as he gathered himself. He hated talking about his squad brothers as if they were something historic. A few weeks ago he had been joking with them, each thinking that they would be in this war together and that made it all bearable; they had each other. But then the Battle of Khorm had taken them from him. Sometimes he lay awake at night reliving each death, wishing that one of those shots had got him too. He would never get another squad like them. Commandos were special units and he had grown up with them. A new squad was out of the question...at least here he could utilise his skills without having to become part of a new group.

Some would say that he was a coward and that he was shirking his duty, but if he could help Sol then at least he had some purpose in this new life among the Wolfpack.

"Listen Sol, I'm going to tell you about my squad. I'm going to tell you about each of them, because they were good men and better brothers, and they deserve to be remembered and celebrated." He swallowed audibly. "Maybe, once I've told you my story, you could tell me a little about yourself?"

_It was worth a try._

_It would be good for both of them._

* * *

><p><strong><em>Can Fixer do his bit to fix Sol? Or at least help him when Wolffe returns to question him? There's nothing a commando can't do... ~ Atin<em>**


	10. Chapter 10

The datapad clattered down on the desk and Wolffe lowered his head in to his hands. It was like reading a report written of their current incident. Even skim reading Sol's transfer report drew worrying parallels: violent outburst against a fellow trooper without warning, committed in a killing rage and the report documented injuries to other members of the squad who had stepped in to pull him off. It was an almost identical scenario.

He had read on, his stomach sinking, realising that he could have prevented this. He had known something was going on. He'd thought that moving Sol in with his best squad would solve any issues but it obviously hadn't.

_Trooper CT-5468; medic, remanded in custody...unproved attack on CT- 6654 to his severe injury...upon questioning, a collection of injuries on CT-5468's medical record showing pattern of abuse was forwarded by CT-2636; medic...CT-6654 terminated in unresponsive coma..._

Sol had killed a brother.

He would have killed Venn if not pulled away; in fact, he may still have caused the trooper's death. That all depended on what injuries he had sustained and how well the medics could treat them.

Wolffe pushed the 'pad away and stood up abruptly, feeling the need to get out the office. He felt a throbbing nausea and he didn't know if it was due to the persistent pain that he had been intending to discuss with Sol before all this kicked off, or whether it was due to the content he'd just subjected himself to. He'd never known of a brother killing a fellow vod, and Sol was the last person he would ever consider capable of such an action. Well, he had until witnessing his completely unprovoked explosion.

He strode down the vast network of corridors, taking a detour towards the medbay. A quick comm call would have given him all the information he required but for some reason he wanted to put off his inevitable confrontation with the medic currently under arrest in Fixer's quarters.

Instead he entered the medbay with as much authority as he could muster, scanning the frantic activity around Venn. The trooper was stripped, covered in blood and seemingly unresponsive, surrounded by a medical team led by Kohl. Rather than interrupt, Wolffe made his way over to the bed where Ghost lay, no longer strapped to the restrictive spinal board but still holding himself very carefully.

"Is he okay? ...Sol...poor little chakaar, how is he?" Ghost's haunting ice blue gaze met his commander's and he tried to turn a little to better engage in conversation, but the fractional movement made him wince sharply.

Wolffe reached out quickly to steady him and keep him in place. "Steady, Ghost. Have you been scanned?" He concerned to see his close brother off the spinal board when he was still in so much pain. He was naturally a cautious man and didn't want a rushed diagnosis to result in a further injury.

Ghost nodded his head a fraction, very slowly and tentatively as if testing his range of movement. "It's just soft tissue damage and an almighty bang to the back of my head. No fractures and no bleeding on the brain, thankfully." His eyes closed sleepily but he blinked a few times to refocus on the face above him. "I'm going in bacta when they're ready." He smiled as his brother smoothed the wisps of blonde back from his face, enjoying the tender affection in the gesture. There were still plenty moments when the formality slipped away and in those moments they were just brothers; no rank between them.

"Can I get you anything?"

"A little water would be good but I can't sit up and swallow properly." Ghost gave a small smile. "I'm getting my fluid needs from the IV though; it's just my mind that thinks I need water."

Wolffe pulled his canteen from his belt and dipped his fingers in the water. It wasn't a proper drink, but he touched his fingers to the medic's lips and let a few drops of water wet his mouth. He repeated the action a few times until the thirst was satisfied.

He couldn't put off the inevitable much longer.

"I'm going to speak to Sol now."

There was nothing else he could do here. Kohl was still working frantically over Venn and it didn't look like he was going to be able to give a report for a while.

_Stop being a coward._

He gave Ghost a parting smile and left the medbay without allowing a backwards glance. It took a mere ten minutes to reach the barracks again and he sorely wished it were a longer walk.

Fixer answered his door within seconds, allowing him in then relocking the door. He still hadn't replaced Sol's binders and didn't want to risk him making a run for it.

Sol was sitting on the floor with his back against the wall. When he looked up and saw Wolffe all the colour drained from his face. He stood up with the grim purpose of a man meeting his fate.

Wolffe came to a halt and gave Fixer a glance. "I need to speak to him alone. Would you mind stepping out for a moment?" He looked a little guilty to be throwing the commando out of his own room, but needs must. "Kohl's in over his head in the medbay right now. I'd appreciate it if you could lend him a hand before he runs himself in to the ground. Help the tech's get Ghost in to bacta..." He dropped his head for a moment as the gravity of the situation swept over him like a tidal wave.

Fixer stepped forward and lay a hand on his shoulder, squeezing hard. "No problem, sir. I'll see that it's all running smoothly." He tried to give Sol an encouraging smile but the medic was completely shut down, staring blankly at a patch of wall.

Wolffe waited until the door shut behind Fixer and then turned to face Sol, pointing to the chair by Fixer's desk. "Sit." He saw him preparing to object but took him by the shoulder and forcibly pushed him in to the seat. He didn't have the patience for repeating himself right now. He counted to ten in his head to calm himself before speak. "I read your file."

Sol's whole body seemed to sag for a second before he jerked to his feet again. He offered his wrists, expecting the return of the binders. It was only a matter of time...the next transport heading for Kamino. He was under no illusions of what his future held for him. There would be no third chance for him. He had been lucky to be allowed a second chance at all.

"Look at me."

Sol couldn't bring himself to make eye contact. He respected Wolffe and valued his opinion; he'd been nothing but a disappointment to the commander and he felt that settle like a lead weight in his chest. He flinched as Wolffe grabbed him by the chin and forced him to look up. It wasn't anger in the commander's eyes; it was loss...hurt...

Wolffe kept his grip to stop him looking away. "Why?" It wasn't so much a demand as a plea for answers.

Sol shook his head, snatching it from the tight grasp. "...because I'm me. What does it matter?" He thrust his hands out again. "Just get it over with. I know how it goes." He didn't fear death. He wondered if there was maybe some sort of afterlife. A fresh start.

He was a prime specimen though, so they'd probably just do a reprogram. This body would march out of Kamino again, but it would be a different man at the controls.

_And what chance was there of an afterlife when your body continued without you. Did that even count as dead? All that made him Sol would blow away in a breath of wind as his body marched back in to battle without him. He'd be stuck for eternity trying to gather himself together. The thought terrified him - the idea that if there was something after, it wasn't for him._

"Sol...Sol?"

Someone was shaking him and he realised that he had completely zoned out and missed the last few minutes completely. "Why do you want to know? You've read it all. Do you just want to hear it straight from the eopies mouth? Maybe you can use me as a guideline for how a trooper shouldn't be..." There was a bitter twist to his voice that both shamed him and brought a flame of anger to his chest. "Why?!" He tried to push his commander away with a firm shove against his chest plate._ It didn't matter now what he did. It couldn't get any worse._

Wolffe took a step back to regain his balance then grasped the front of Sol's fatigues and slammed him up against the wall, using his body to hold him tight against the surface. "I want to know why you did it because I don't want to see you reconditioned!" It was meant to sound intimidating but instead his voice hitched on the final word. This trooper had got under his skin in such a short period of time. He was attentive, kind, caring, and he had been more in tune with Wolffe's problems than even his longest serving Wolfpack brethren. He took a deep breath and lowered his voice, keeping the pressure on. "The only punishment for a second offence is Kamino...but I can't let them take you away."

There was a few moments of tense silence, then Sol cautiously closed the distance between them. He kissed the commander with all the trepidation of someone anticipating some subtle subterfuge.

For a first kiss it wasn't too bad. They were so perfectly identical in height that they just slotted together, each tilting slightly to deepen the experiment.

It wasn't the spine tingling, fizzy feeling that Sol had expected to feel; instead it was an intense, burning desire. He leant in hungrily, his hands coming up to run through Wolffe's close cropped black hair.

Wolffe's touch was more confident, exploring the smooth muscles under the medic's borrowed shirt. When his touch suddenly dropped to stroke Sol through his pants, the fingers in his hair tightened almost painfully.

Sol had tilted his head back against the wall, exposing his throat for Wolffe to attack.

"Oww!" Sol yelped, his hand coming up to touch his collarbone, rubbing away the sting. "I thought you said your bark was worse than your bite..."

His yelp had jerked them back to the here and now, although they were both breathing heavily and there was the unmistakable warmth in his groin. He was willing to bet that the commander's armour was feeling a little uncomfortable just at that moment as well.

Wolffe placed a ghost of a kiss on the sore spot. "I don't want them to take you to Kamino."

It was said in such a distressed and exhausted tone that Sol found himself wrapping his arms around the other man in the hope of providing some comfort. He didn't particularly want to go to Kamino either but that the only option for a second offence. "It's too late. It's not the only option."

Wolffe's fingers had found the boot shaped bruise but his touch was as light as a feather. His other hand found Sol's and gripped it tightly.

"I need you to tell me everything. Absolutely everything. I _will_ find a way around this, ner vod, I promise I won't rest until I do."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Not sure if I succeeded in a believable tension, or keep Wolffe in character. Tried! ~ Atin<strong>_


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

"I had a brother. A brother by choice."

* * *

><p><em>The door hissed open and there was the teenage cadet; his hands coated in blood, his clothes soaked in sweat. He sat on a crate in the storage room, his head lowered and his shoulders heaving as he gasped in breaths.<em>

_He looked up at the intrusion but knew that only one person was aware of his hide out. _

_"What are you doing here?" _

_It wasn't said with malice; just undertones of frustration...as if this were a regular occurrence._

_The box creaked as the other cadet took a seat by his side, taking his bruised and bleeding hands and beginning to wipe them clean with a damp cloth. It was a done with such effortless care that it was obviously not the first time; every finger cleaned, smeared with bacta and checked for broken bones._

_Sol sat quietly, allowing the treatment to be completed in silence. He knew why his brother was here...he was always here, every time Sol disappeared; he knew he came down to vent his frustrations where no Kaminoan, training sergeant or fellow cadet could find him._

_Apart from Kirii._

_Sol finally pulled his gaze up from his own boots to look his brother up and down. _

_Kirii was dressed in his burgundy fatigues and had the ruffled look of someone who'd just dragged himself from his sleep pod. He was sporting his own bumfluff attempt at a goatee. It had been the cause of one of their few arguments and Sol found a smile creeping to his lips even now. _

_Kirii was the exact opposite of Sol. While Sol was all fire and anger, Kirii was an eternal pool of calm. It took a lot to provoke anything resembling anger in the demolitions trooper. It was a valuable trait when handling explosives and Sol was always glad of his influence. _

_Whenever Sol's anger built, Kirii was always there to keep him calm until he could vent, then pick up the pieces and glue him back together. _

_"What happened today?" Kirii took a small, fine pointed blade and a bottle of ink from his pocket, pulling Sol's shirt tunic off over his head and smoothing soothing hands over his skin. He swung his leg over to sit astride the crate and began to cut and ink more detail on to the design across his brother's shoulders. Some areas he had added colour and others were cut and recut, left to heal as patterns of scar tissue. Life as a trooper would leave you with its own choice of distinguishing features, so you might as well make some of them your own choice._

_Kirii had a steady hand and a fine eye for details. His patience and skill, coupled with a little guidance from Sol's medical knowledge, had allowed them to come to this agreement between them. Kirii enjoyed creating beautiful art, and Sol found the process of being inked cathartic. It gave a pleasant buzz of endorphins and helped him to relax. Everything added to his body was beautiful and it had forged a bond between them that was tougher than anything life could throw at them. _

_Sol gave a heavy sigh and reached back to place a hand on his brother's knee. "They were giving us tasks we couldn't succeed in; sims where the patient died no matter what we did." He punched the box, venting his frustration against something that couldn't be harmed. It didn't matter that it was a simulation training exercise. He had felt a brother bleed out under his hands. They were testing the young medic's ability to perform under pressure. "It was you, Kir'ika...the sim made me lose you."_

_Kirii paused, seeming to hold his breath for a few seconds, then he leant forward and wrapped his arms around his brother's shoulders. "It was only a sim; I'm not going anywhere, vod'ika." The thought of his likeness being shown to his closest brother just to terrify him and test his skills under immense pressure made him sick. "I'm always gonna be right by your side, pouring a bucket of water over your fire. That's just how it is for us."_

* * *

><p>The onset of war saw them shipped off under Commander Bly. It was hard; Geonosis put them to the test from the word go.<p>

_Sol ducked through the crumbling underworld of Geonosis, shouting at his fellow troopers to grab the injured and run. The attempt at blasting through had brought down weakened parts of the caverns and the whole plan had gone to haran. _

_He scrambled over the piles of rock and rubble, following the distress icons on his HUD. "Kirii!" He lost his balance and almost fell, but succeeded in hauling himself over the final few metres to the source of the blast._

_He found Kirii lying among the rubble. He was trapped by rocks that had pinned his leg; conscious but unable to get free. "Kirii, vod'ika, it's okay. I'm getting you out."_

_Kirii waved an arm at him in frustration. "Get out Sol. This whole place is going to come down any second." He gave a sharp cry of pain when the medic started yanking free the debris. His leg was broken, he knew that without looking. What a stupid way to die...and in the first battle. _

_Sol dug on doggedly, freeing him and grabbing his arms to pull him upright. "C'mon...c'mon, we've got to get out before this all comes down on our head." He gripped tighter, blocking out his close brother's cries of pain. "You can cry all you like when we're out of here but now I want all your effort on moving, okay, one foot in front of the other, vod'ika."_

_They struggled, stumbling and sobbing, sure that any moment the world was going to come down around them and bury them arrive - but they made it. They made it out in to the bright Geonosian sunlight and in to the arms of their waiting brothers._

_Kirii's leg healed, although he occasionally limped towards the end of long slogs but it didn't affect his ability to engineer a fine explosive solution, and it didn't stop him keeping Sol on the straight and narrow._

* * *

><p>But Kirii's mistake; bringing down the cavern, had brought a degree of distrust. Some brother's tried to throw their weight around, threatening him, but Sol put himself in the firing line. Kirii didn't deserve the criticism. It had been their first mission. Everyone made mistakes and no lives had been lost due to his mistake.<p>

_Any threats that came towards Kirii, Sol was always there to protect him. Kirii was a kind and gentle trooper; he didn't deserve to be taunted. _

_Then there came the mission where Kirii didn't come home._

_The first brother to come up to Sol, finger the tattoos on his body and whisper abuse in his ear hit the floor and never got up again._

_And Sol was thrown in to a cell._

_But it didn't matter, because Kirii was gone. He'd heard the reports. Nobody had gone looking for him, they'd retreated and left the bomb squad trapped behind. How could they have done that? They didn't just leave brother's behind...they left Kirii...Sol's best friend, his only friend. _

_His lifeline. _

_His sanity._

* * *

><p>Being moved to a new company didn't make any difference. Word travelled and Venn had taken up the role of tormenter.<p>

But it was a fresh chance. It was hard without Kirii to keep him sane, and there wasn't a day went by where he didn't think of him. He wasn't dead. He was MIA.

_But nobody else cared. _

_He thought he'd got his temper under control. He was able to take the beatings without letting any anger devour him. He got back to just being a medic, and a brother to Sinker's squad. _

_Having a purpose helped him. Something to funnel all his energy in to. He spent his time reading every piece of cybernetic literature he could lay his hands on. _

_He did his best to watch over Wolffe. He knew he was hurting, and scared; the consequences of having the cybernetic fail would be death. There was only so far clone treatment would go. Wolffe had enough value to warrant a cybernetic experiment, but not repeated tinkering. It either worked or it didn't. His value was as a commander - taking control and saving the need for a Jedi to be constantly on hand - if he as out of service for repeated treatments it completely wasted the effort. _

_They were expected to have short lives._

_But every effort he made to keep himself occupied was in vain. He could take the bruises, the broken bones...he was a medic after all, but when Venn accused him of endangering the commander, he saw red again._

_It was as if his entire pent up anger was let loose. This time it was for both Kirii and Wolffe, and he couldn't stop himself._

_He'd hurt others in his struggles. People he cared about, like Sinker and Ghost. Fek, he hadn't even wanted to hurt Venn. His anger just took over and all he could do was lash out over and over again._

* * *

><p>"If Venn dies, then there's nothing that will keep me from ending up on Kamino."<p>

They sat together on the floor of Fixer's room.

Sol had sank to the ground before starting his story and Wolffe had joined him in an attempt to comfort him when the tears started.

Recounting his story had been harder than he could ever have imagined. Somehow it had become the case that by never mentioning Kirii it would never have happened at all. That only worked until he closed his eyes at night and dreamed of every way his brother could have died.

He looked up at Wolffe with trepidation. "If they recondition me, will there still be an afterlife?" He didn't mean to ask these unanswerable questions...he didn't even expect an answer, but it was a compulsive desire to know what waited for you on the other side. "...but if all that makes me me is a pattern of electrical impulses in my brain, then there's no spirit, no nothing...I'll just be...gone. There's not even a..."

Wolffe grabbed him roughly and pulled him close, hushing him over and over again. He didn't want to hear it. "He won't die. Kohl can save him and we'll sort this mess out." He pressed his face in to the medic's hair. Knowing the story hadn't helped, but it suddenly made it all the more desperate and complicated.

It was further complicated by the tightening in his chest, the twinge in his heart which told him he loved this man. It was easy to push the thought aside when there was always a tomorrow but now there was a new set of variables.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Trying a different method of telling his story rather than a straight dialogue between them. Hopefully this should have read as a series of snapshots of Sol's life. It could have been ten time the length but I think this was enough to get the message across. ~ Atin<strong>_


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

They stood in front of Venn's bacta tank, watching him floating in what seemed to be a peaceful sleep.

Wolffe laid his forearm on the glass then rested his head against it, running over his plan in his head. Ghost stood between him and Kohl, still smelling strongly of bacta. He had taken the minimum time possible to heal his torn muscles and had merely wiped himself down with towels before pulling on his fatigues, rather than bothering to spend time showering. He had ignored everyone's attempts to get him to rest; his sense of duty as a medic outweighed everything.

"He's doing better than I expected," murmured Kohl, not taking his eyes of the stats reading as if he didn't believe what he was reading. "He's stable. No intracranial swelling and his vitals are strong and steady. He has a long way to go, and we won't really know how the damage may have affected him until he wakes, but I'm cautiously optimistic about his chances." He tapped a finger on the glass and stared into Venn's half open eyes. There was no movement that marked any awareness in his surroundings, but that was okay at this stage. "He's still working through all those meds so I'm not surprised that he's still out for the count."

Ghost was shifting his weight from one foot to the other, trying to relieve the muscular ache that hadn't quite been relieved by the bacta. It wasn't bad but it was enough to make him uncomfortable. If it was a patient he'd have him in on bed rest, but the joy of being a medic was able to bend the rules to suit yourself. When all this was over, he'd sleep for a week to make up for it.

Wolffe gently took Ghost's arm and led him away from the tanks and in to one of the offices used by the medics. He had to explain his plan, but to do that, he also had to burden his brother with his terrible findings. It wasn't something he wanted to do; Ghost was a gentle and trusting man, and would probably take the information worse than anyone else. He trusted Sol as a fellow medic and always saw the good. Even when there was thought that Sol's violent actions might have broken his neck, he still refused to blame him outright. He was always willing to look further for the reason behind actions.

He indicated for him to take the chair, despite the fact that it was standard operating procedure for the senior to be seated; Ghost sank gratefully in to the seat and Wolffe knew it was definitely a time for informal.

"I need your assistance, ner vod." He perched on the table, his boot resting on the edge of his chair. "I need you to be the second medic on an operation." He let out a heavy sigh, unwilling to show weakness but knowing that this was a time for clarity. "I've been having problems with my sight since I had the implant fitted, and Sol thinks he can operate to solve the problem. If I set up a false record of this op being booked in for tomorrow, I can buy some time for dealing with this whole issue. He's currently under arrest - I couldn't avoid that - but there's something not right about all of this and I want to stall the actions as far as possible." He ducked his head, realising how terrible it sounded for a high command officer like himself to be suggest deceit and forgery...but needs must.

Ghost glanced up at him, his expression showing that he was as shocked as Wolffe felt about the whole exchange. "Of course, sir, but why? It's obvious that Sol has been injured by other troopers; I know he hasn't said so in as many words, but look at his bruises and it's obvious. I saw them all when he was in for the check after your drowning incident. He didn't hang around for long...he signed himself out as fit...but I did see some horrific bruises on his torso that weren't fitting with to injuries he would sustain in the incident with you."

Wolffe nodded slowly, plunging on with his explanation. "I know, I saw them too, but I've been reading his transfer file and, in light of its content, I couldn't justify preventing his arrest. I just have to do my best to stall it." He took a steadying breath and rubbed a hand over his face, feeling a few days growth of stubble. He didn't want to speak his findings out loud; it was as if in doing so he would make them truly real. "I...I read the transfer details for Sol and it says he was forced in to a transfer because of his behaviour. He was responsible for the death of a medic in his original company; exact same circumstances we saw ourselves. It says he went for this brother with no warning whatsoever and couldn't be pulled away until he had caused irreversible damage. The medic was placed in a coma and never regained consciousness." He came to a halt and watched Ghost's reaction in his peripheral vision.

The blonde medic looked shell shocked. He had his mouth open, as if to ask a question, but he didn't make a sound. There was a long silence until he found his voice. "Sol killed a brother?"

Wolffe placed a hand on his friend's shoulder in an attempt to comfort him, keeping his touch soft to avoid hurting him. "I know it sounds wrong, but that's what it says." He waited to see if Ghost would offer any further observations but the silence descended again. "A feel that something just doesn't add up so I've asked Fixer to look in to it, but for now that doesn't help Sol. If we do the op, then he has a use and they can't take him away yet." He paused, trying to get Ghost to meet his eye; eventually having to resort to grasping the medic by the chin to force him to look up. "You know what will happen. There will be no court martial...not for a second offence. Even if Venn lives, I think they'll take him before we find that out. He'll be taken to Kamino without questioning."

Ghost was still silent and distant. He seemed to be running it all through his mind, trying to make sense of it. Sol had seemed to be so kind and gentle; it was hard to rationalise that with a trooper who was capable of killing in a rage. But he had seen him lose it - so it wasn't a completely unbelievable point. He felt betrayed...cheated by someone he had thought to be a friend. They'd all gone out of their way to welcome Sol in to the squad and make him feel comfortable, and this felt like it had all been thrown back in their faces. It was all a lie. Sol had made himself look vulnerable when he was really a violent and dangerous man to have as a squad mate.

Wolffe ruffled Ghost's hair in what he hoped was a comforting action. "C'mon, ner vod. I'll sort it all out when Fixer has had time to go through the files. If there's anything untoward, he'll find it. He's so good at digging where he shouldn't be...I'm glad he's on our side and not against us." He regretted having to tell the terrible details to his friend, but it was only fair to have him up to date if he was going to be involved. "Get yourself back to your barracks and get a solid night's rest. I'll set the op for 0800 tomorrow." He helped him to his feet, rubbing his back soothingly. "It'll all sort itself out. It will buy time and I trust you to have my six while I'm out for the count, okay?"

Ghost paused to give him the most heart-warming gaze he'd ever received from the medic.

"Of course, sir. Whatever happens, I'll be right by your side." He pushed a hand through his close cropped hair; the standard military short back and sides. "You can rely on me. I'll make sure you're taken care of."

Truth be told, he wasn't entirely comfortable with his own plan. There was a part of him which knew that Sol was a good guy, but having read and witnessed his violent temper, it was hard to force the calm. With Ghost at his side, he had the confidence that whatever Sol did, it would be for the best. Ghost may not know how to do the op that Sol had planned, but he would know if there was anything going on that would be harmful for the commander, and that was enough for the time being.

Ghost had been one of his medic's for a long time...just as long as Kohl and Trill. Trill was working in another area of the medbay since his injuries had left him vulnerable in a battlefield. He was perfectly capable of running a medbay, so Wolffe had assigned him chief medic in the isolation ward. Kohl and Ghost handled most of the serious and emergency work, while Sol had been placed in the recovery area, helping brother's recuperate.

With Sol under arrest and Ghost by his side, that left Kohl running the medbay alone. It was a hard stretch for one man, but Kohl had a great mind for multitasking, and he had technicians to hand out the easier jobs to, and droids for more routine care.

It would work...it had to work. It would buy time for Fixer to investigate, and protect Sol from immediate transfer to Kamino. If it had been possible, he may have tried to keep the matter unofficial for as long as possible, but after reading the transfer he realised that keeping this second attack a secret would be a direct reflection on his own ability to lead. It would show as displaying favouritism and that wasn't how it could be. It had to be fair.

And he couldn't have sent him back to his squad as if nothing had happened. Just one look at Ghost's face was enough to show the devastating blow that the information had had on them. If they knew, he was sure that every other member would feel the same way. It would be a violation of their own rights to put them in the position of going on as if nothing had ever happened. Especially poor Ghost who was pushing on manfully despite the psychological and physical trauma from the attack.

There was always more than one side to any story, but for now the only way forward was to allow the guards to keep Sol under arrest in the cells.

Fixer would turn up something. And Wolffe would buy him more time.

It would work.

It had to work.

* * *

><p><em><strong>The knowledge of what Sol has done is starting to get to them, but what will Fixer find. Can Ghost work side by side with Sol...trust him taking a scalpel to their commander? Will it be successful, or is Sol barking up the wrong tree with his clever treatment idea? Thanks for reading ~ Atin<strong>_


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Ghost strode down the detention hall, past rows of empty unlocked rooms until he found the one with its energy shied engaged. A night's sleep had let him attempt to rationalise and deal with the emotions; the feeling of betrayal, and now he was able to approach his fellow medic in a stable frame of mind.

He glanced inside and checked that Sol was away from the shield before dropping the power to let himself in. Much to his own shame, he had a knife tucked in to his belt, just in case he needed to protect himself. He'd never felt the need to protect himself to approach a brother, but then there had to be a first time for everything.

Sol was asleep on the bare steel ledge with his head resting on his arm as a pillow. He stirred a little as the footsteps approached him but didn't wake.

Ghost touched his shoulder to nudge him awake. He felt a little warm, but it _was_ stuffy in the cell. It took a few shakes to rouse his brother, but eventually Sol pushed himself upright.

He hauled himself up to sit for a few moments, coughing and coughing as if he were trying to rid himself of a lung.

Ghost hammered him on the back until the coughing fit ended, feeling a little knot of tension in his chest. They had half an hour to get ready and start the surgery. Kohl and the techs were getting Wolffe ready and giving him the anaesthetic, which gave him time to collect Sol and bring him back to the medbay. "Are you okay?"

Sol brought a hand up to wipe across his mouth, breathing open mouthed for a few seconds before replying with a nod. He offered his wrists to Ghost so that the binders could be fitted. He knew he would be bound at all points, apart from when he was operating. He wanted the chance to speak to Wolffe before the operation started, but it had been Fixer who informed him of the operation plan and Wolffe would be under pre-med already. He just had to suck it up and trust his understanding and skills. He'd read enough. He'd been allowed his notes last night to refresh his operation plan. Now he just had to carry it out.

* * *

><p>Ghost led him back to the medbay; an awkward silence trailing along in their wake. There was no friendly banter, no chatter...just the echo of their footsteps.<p>

When they arrived in the operating theatre, freshly scrubbed and suited in surgical whites, Wolffe was already prepared for them. The techs had laid hygienic covers over his body and the half of his face that was normal. It was a little disconcerting to be stared at by the cybernetic, but a check of the monitors showed he was completely under and ready to proceed.

Ghost stood opposite him, watching every move like a hawk but taking any instructions without argument or hesitation. Sol was a good medic and he knew better what he was doing that Ghost ever could. It was time to show a little trust.

Sol could feel the sweat on his skin, partly due to the pressure he was under, partly due to the hot surgical lighting, but also due to the simmering fever that was growing in his body. It wasn't noticeable until he pushed himself but his chest ached and the worse the coughing fits got, the higher his temperature crept. He'd deal with it when Wolffe was safely conscious and in recovery. It wouldn't make much difference to wait a while, not when it was still a mild fever.

Ghost reached out to wipe the sheen of sweat away with a cloth. "You're doing great, Sol." It was genuine praise, even if he was still uncomfortable with his company. He had watched the younger medic open the cybernetic and undertake the fiddly job of moving the impulse connections further back along the optic nerve.

Ghost didn't fully understand why it had happened, but Sol had murmured quietly as he operated; explaining that the initial operation had connected the cybernetic to the optic nerve at a point where there was still damage and that was why the quality of the sight was intermittent. Sometimes the impulses got through, and sometimes they didn't. Pain related to the nerve damage was what had put Wolffe out of action so often.

The plan with Sol's intricate work was to move the connection between Wolffe and the cybernetic back to a point where the nerve was healthy. If his understanding of the medical texts was accurate, then this should allow a smooth connection between technology and biology.

It was all theoretical, but then that was the best he could do, and the GAR wouldn't consider re-operating to be a valuable use of their time and resources, so it was the best chance Wolffe had of making the technology work for him.

Ghost watched patiently as he finished up and fitted the cybernetic back in to the cavity. It was somehow more gory than operating on real flesh and blood. The connection between surgical steel and flesh made him feel a little queasy, but he watched because he knew he'd never likely see this again. Once it was fitted back in place, only the trails of blood down the commander's cheek showed that anything had happened.

Sol stepped back for a moment to take a breather now that the operation was complete. He was tired and beginning to feel a little shaky. The stress had completely sapped the strength out of him. "Ghost..."

Ghost looked up just as his brother's eyes rolled back and he fell to the floor. "Fek, Sol, vod'ika!" He couldn't move from his spot and abandon the commander's treatment so he shouted for the guard trooper who was standing outside. "Rev! Rev, get in here, I need your help."

Sol was awake as soon as he hit the floor, but he needed Rev's assistance to get back to his shaking feet. "I'm fine...I'm fine. I just didn't sleep much last night." He allowed himself to be hefted up and supported under the arm.

Ghost gave him a visual once over, trying to take charge of the situation. "I can finish up and get him in to recovery. You need to go back and rest." He motioned for Rev to take him back. "I'll come and check on you when I'm finished in here, okay?"

Sol nodded and felt the coolness of the binders against his skin again. It seemed stupid; it wasn't like he was going to fight back as he was led away. He didn't have the strength in him to do anything, even if he had wanted to. He was completely at the mercy of Rev.

It seemed like the longest walk ever to get back to the detention level and he was happy to collapse on to the cold steel ledge that amounted for a bed. To begin with it had seemed a cruelly uncomfortable way to treat even a prisoner, but now he was just glad of the cool temperature against his skin.

He lay down without a backward look as the shield was raised again to lock him in. He didn't care if they locked him in anymore. He just wanted to rest.

* * *

><p>It was a good few hours before Ghost got a free moment to leave the medbay. He had made the decision to move the commander in to a bacta tank to aid the recovery since the operation, despite running to plan, was still a traumatic result for the body. Bacta would help the healing stay consistent and prevented the risk of him over doing it before he was ready.<p>

Wolffe had been slow to climb out of the sedation and that had worried Ghost enough to put him on a four day immersion. It was the best way to make him rest. Three days would be enough to ensure healing, but there wasn't a rush on the tanks just now so it was worth planning for the extra day. It could always be cut short, but the longer the better. It was an unusual operation and he didn't want to be responsible for allowing it to fail due to inadequate healing time.

He had taken his medkit with him, knowing that Sol might require the contents. He hadn't looked all that great but Ghost had assumed that was due to the stress of the scenario. He would have been sweating too if he had to perform a one off cybernetic operation on their commander with only literature to guide him!

He came to a halt, realising that he had walked to the end of the hall without stopping at Sol's shield door. He turned on his heel and retraced his steps, gradually becoming more confused. He was sure this was the cell he'd visited earlier.

He picked up his pace and marched back, glancing in every cell he passed.

Every single one was empty.

He bolted back up to the guards' office, recognising Rev and another trooper hanging around looking bored. "Where is he? Where's Sol?"

Rev glanced up at the intrusion, putting down his datapad. "The transport arrived and relieved us of him. It was a little early, but there was no paperwork to be signed...just a simple handover." He didn't look too bothered by it all. He acted as if it was nothing; as if he handed troopers over to their death sentence every day.

Ghost stared at him for a few seconds, his mouth open in shock, and then he turned and bolted back towards their quarters. On a huge ship like this it was a long way to run, but he didn't break his speed. He dodged groups of troopers as he reached the busier levels, but he made it to Fixer's room in record time. He hammered on the door, praying that the commando was actually in there and not out somewhere. It would be impossible to find him if he was, and he didn't have a code on him for his commlink.

He nearly wept with relief as the door panel flashed and opened.

* * *

><p>Fixer had been sitting at his desk, engrossed in the tangled web of transfer files. The deeper he dug, the more complicated it seemed.<p>

When he accessed the troop records, it showed the medic CT-6654 as alive and well, yet the transfer filed had him marked as deceased due to Sol's attack. There was a level of heavy encryption in the way which prevented these facts from being brought up side by side, but Fixer prided himself on never letting a code beat him. It had taken a while, but he had cracked it and could now lay the files side by side and analyse them.

Medbay records showed CT-6654 as being treated in the bacta tank but recovering fully. Sol had been placed under arrest, but instead of being questioned and released, he had been sent for immediate transfer. He hadn't even returned to his barracks; he had been taken straight from the holding cells to the Wolfpack transfer. The reason for his heavy punishment raised this conflicting data. As far as Sol was concerned, he had been responsible for death, yet the trooper was very much alive and had signed his own side of a report agreeing to the transfer and no further action.

It didn't make any sense.

If Sol had killed, he should have been returned to Kamino, but instead he had been sent for transfer. His fight with another trooper could have been dealt with without the need for transfer. It was as if they had wanted rid of him and were willing to forge reports to make it feasible.

The encryption had probably prevented anyone from realising the conflicting facts, until Fixer had gone digging specifically. Commander Bly had signed off the reports and Fixer was sure that the encryption had been set up by the ARC. It was beyond the skills of an average trooper.

The hammering at his door had dragged him back to reality with a bump and he leapt back as the blonde medic spilled in to his room, sweating and panting as if he'd just run fifty laps of the hanger deck.

"They've...'ve taken him...Fix..."

Fixer held his hands up. "Easy, Ghost, breathe. Who has taken who?" The medic was in such a panic that it was hard to make any sense of what he was trying to say. "Take a deep breath and tell me what's going on."

Ghost gulped in air, bent over in an effort to relieve the stitch in his side. "Sol...they've taken him. The transport...Kamino. He's gone."

Fixer came to an abrupt halt. _Fek, they can't. No matter what the reports may have said, he hadn't actually been responsible for any deaths. They needed to do something. He __**had**__ to do something._

"Go back to the medbay and look after the commander. I need to speak to General Plo."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Thanks for reading. ~ Atin<strong>_


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

Fixer skidded to a halt outside the room and took a few moments to gather himself, smoothing out his fatigues and fighting the compulsion to dart back and armour up. There wasn't time and it wasn't necessary. The General was fair and there was nothing to fear in requesting his assistance...but that didn't stop the butterflies in his stomach. He wasn't a command clone. Sure, he had worked with the Jedi on Khorm, but it had been his sergeant who had to contact. He just did as he was told.

And now he was standing outside Jedi General Plo Koon's room, trying to summon the courage to knock on the door. Sol's life depended on him getting a grip. _C'mon, Fix._

He leapt as the door swept open without his knock. He was embarrassed to admit that he may well have yelped because he was just not ready yet...he hadn't composed himself for an audience with a Jedi.

Plo Koon sat at his desk, eyes cast up towards the commando standing in his doorway in shock. "Come in, Fixer. You need to speak to me?"

Fixer took a few steps towards the desk, standing to attention and saluting his general. It always surprised him how the Jedi seemed to remember their names, and could tell them apart even when they were wearing fatigues. In armour, Fixer stood out because of his red markings against the sombre grey of Wolffe's own troopers but in fatigues he should have just blended in with everyone else. "Sir, yes, Sir."

Plo Koon stood slowly, slightly taller than the clones although much slighter in build. It made no difference; he was still intimidating. He smiled warmly and gestured for him to stand at ease. He could feel the emotions being held in check. The commando may have been displaying a façade of professional calm, but below the surface he had an anxious air that was bordering on panic. "What can I do for you?"

Fixer shifted his weight surreptitiously from foot to foot, realising now that he had to say it just how strange his story would be. "Sir, Commander Wolffe set me a task before he went in to surgery." He licked his lips and swallowed. "He requested that I take a look in to the transfer details of CT-5468, looking for any irregularities. There was an, ehm, an incident, sir. CT-5468 was placed under arrest. Commander Wolffe was suspicious and wanted me to look deeper for him, and I found a discrepancy."

The Kel Dor Jedi observed him over his steepled fingers. "What did you find, Fixer?"

"I don't believe the details are true in his transfer file. He is meant to be responsible for the death of a medic, but the medic in question is still alive on record, and the files were heavily encrypted to prevent this being brought to light." He ducked his head for a moment, wanting to leap around and grab the Jedi to get him to do something, but he needed to maintain his calm and get the details across. "Sir, Sol...CT-5468 was removed on transport to Kamino forty five minutes ago. He may have done things wrong but he hasn't actually killed anyone and he shouldn't be sent for reconditioning. We need to stop the transport."

Time seemed to crawl as the Jedi thought it over. Fixer was practically twitching with energy in the face of this calm, apparent disinterest. He knew it was far from disinterest...their general was the best. He cared for his men.

"His transfer was signed by Commander Bly, am I correct?"

"Yes, sir." Fixer clenched his fist, trying to keep his nerves in check. "We need to stop them."

Plo Koon raised a hand to stall any further spilling of nerves. "The transport is entirely droid crewed. They won't take a 'he might be innocent' as a good enough reason to stop. They do as they are programmed to do. It's all black and white to them." He raised his hand again when he saw Fixer blanche and open his mouth again. "That doesn't mean we can't do anything. I want you to get kitted up and go down to the hanger. By the time you're ready I will have a pilot ready for you. I will contact General Secura and 'borrow' her Commander for a mission. You will meet with him on her flagship, and by then I will have spoken to him. I can't tell you what to do, but I will sign you out and get the two of you together." He turned back to his desk and pulled out a handful of untraceable credits. He took Fixer's hand and placed them in his palm. "You both have advanced training. I'll give you the opportunity and the clearance to work, but I can't actively participate in this. I'll stick with Wolffe while he recovers."

Fixer was on his feet as soon as the Jedi finished speaking. He knew that he couldn't get any active assistance, but guidance and clearance was enough to give him a chance. "Thank you, sir." He gave a crisp salute and turned to head for his quarters at a lope.

* * *

><p>Sol had been dragged from his cell on the detention level to an even smaller cell on this Kamino bound transport.<p>

He could reach out and touch all four walls of his temporary prison; it was tiny, empty and dark. There wasn't even a hint of human comfort. He had been provided with a few bottles of water but they didn't last long. He drank most of them in an attempt to ease the coughing, but it was a cough from his chest and the water did make much difference.

Every breath ached and he had waited patiently in the hope that they may let him out to use the 'fresher but the droid crew didn't seem to register the needs of a human body. Eventually he had to give in and use the empty bottles. He had no idea how long the journey to Kamino would take and he had come to accept that he wouldn't see light until they arrived. If they were going to give him a chance of comfort or to stretch his legs, they would have done so by now.

He tried to sleep but every time he got remotely comfortable, another fit of coughing choked him and forced him upright. He was coughing with enough force to make himself retch but he really didn't want to throw up in the tiny cell.

He let himself slide down the wall and curled up on his side, shivering and sweating simultaneously, coughing up mouthfuls of copper tasting mucus. He couldn't see in the dark, but he knew there was blood.

He knew what was wrong. It was a bacterial pneumonia, developing from his near drowning experience. He had felt he was safe; well past the timescale for the risk of secondary drowning, and he knew Ghost had been watching him like a hawk for any sign of this, but pneumonia could hit after you felt you were in the clear. He'd seen it in others, treated in others, but he was sure he had time to do his job and then beginning some antibiotics. It had started like a cold; just a minor cough and discomfort, and then everything had gone wrong. He'd ended up under arrest and Ghost had been giving him such a cold shoulder, he hadn't wanted to appear to be pushing the sympathy vote by asking him for treatment. It was terrible timing. After collapsing in surgery, at least he had then clarified the need for a course of antibiotics, but then the transport had arrived before Ghost had visited.

Wolffe's plan had been to keep him around until the result of the surgery was clear, but it had then been decided by others that Ghost would manage the recovery treatment alone and Sol could be punted on to the first available transport; getting him out of everyone's hands. The military liked rules and having him hanging around between controls was not desirable.

Wolffe would be furious when he woke and found out that they'd gone against his orders, but that didn't help Sol right now.

He would be 'gone' before Wolffe was out of bacta.

Gone; it wasn't even correct to say 'dead'. Someone else would get his body.

He hoped they would put it to good use, and the medic in him knew that, without treatment, it wouldn't be a body worth having. By the time he reached Kamino, he might well have reached the stage where he was only worth terminating.

It didn't matter; either way, he was stuck here to sit it out and all he could hope was that he would slip in to blissful unconsciousness soon. The longer he was awake, the more scared he got. At least with these symptoms, he stood a decent chance of passing out long before he reached his destination.

At least he couldn't let anyone down anymore. From now on, the only one paying for his aberrant mind was himself, and that would all be over soon.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Thanks for reading. ~ Atin<strong>_


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

The journey to Aayla Secura's flagship seemed impossibly long to Fixer. Things weren't happening fast enough. He had attempted to make small talk with the pilot, but he was too anxious and it rubbed off in the way he talked, and he didn't want to hurt the feelings of this poor, unfortunate brother who had been landed with being his transport for eighteen hours.

He went over everything that he had read in the reports and made sure that he had copies of all the important points. Then he found a comfortable corner and attempted to doze.

When they docked with Secura's flagship he was feeling slightly more awake and ready to get on with it.

He was met off the ramp by Commander Bly and he could immediately sense the negative emotions flowing from the ARC. Clones may not be force sensitive, but they knew each other so well that all it took was a few subtle hints in body language to read another like a book. It was both a positive and a negative point for them. It was good to have the closeness that this awarded them, but equally it made it hard for them to get privacy even in their own minds. There was a 90% chance that your brother could make a correct guess as to what was bothering you at any given moment.

He would be making a wild guess, but he was pretty sure he saw guilt among the many emotions gracing the Commander's features. "CT-2O18, Fixer, sir. General Plo Koon sent me."

It seemed like a ridiculous thing to say but there were so many troopers milling around in the hanger deck that it seemed dangerous to make their true mission obvious.

Bly gave a curt nod and led him out d the hanger. He didn't make any conversation until they had stepped in to his office and closed the door behind then. He motioned for Fixer to take a seat and then settled down in his own chair. "General Plo told me you found the encryption." It sounded so very abrupt, but he couldn't help but feel the entire pressure of the situation resting on his shoulders. The message from the Kel Dor Jedi had been completely out of the blue; he had been sure that he had put this all behind him, but here it was creeping up to bite him again. "Can you explain to me what happened? What are we dealing with here?"

Fixer clenched his fists and took a steadying breath. "You transferred a trooper named Sol to us a few months ago. You signed a report saying he had been responsible for the death of one of your medics, so his record had him as being on a final warning. He reoffended and now he's on a transport to Kamino, and he never did kill that medic, did he, sir?" The 'sir' was strained but he was determined to stay polite with the man he was meant to be working with.

Bly let his head drop and he seemed to be holding his breath. If it weren't for his detachment, it would appear that he was holding back tears. He pinched the bridge of his nose for a few seconds before sitting up and trying to regain his composure. He was aware of Fixer watching him closely, and it just made it all so much worse. "Just Bly, no 'sir' while we're doing this. We're both Special Forces and that's all that matters right now." There was a knock at his door but he ignored it, needing to get this over with. "I did sign off on that transfer, but I wasn't actually present at the time. I was on a solo mission and the documents were sent to me because my second in command wasn't permitted to sign off a transfer report. I didn't find out that it was falsified until I returned and found the medic alive and kicking."

A small part of Fixer felt sorry for the commander because he did look genuinely upset by the turn of events, but that couldn't calm the anger that had been building up since he realised Sol was gone. He pushed himself out of his chair, sending it clattering over backwards. "And what did you do about it? Who did you punish?" He glowered at him across the desk, slamming his fists down in to the surface. His voice was high and he knew he shouldn't be shouting at a superior but he needed to vent and it didn't look like Bly was going to discipline him for doing so. It verged on frustrating because he had built himself up for an argument. "You sat back and pretended nothing had happened. You coward! You covered your own back and in doing so my might as well have signed Sol's death sentence." He was breathing heavily but it still he was allowed freedom to shout. The more Bly sat quietly, the less Fixer wanted to shout. He had built up Commander Bly as being the bad guy in all of this; the man who put Sol in this position, but as he glared across the table he felt his stomach sink.

Bly sat still, taking the berating with his head hung in defeat. He had signed off without checking, and then he'd tried to cover it up. That was unprofessional but he was sure he could put it behind him. He understood why his men had struggled to work with Sol; the guy was a great medic and could be fiercely loyal, but equally he could be so violently unstable for no apparent reason. It had seemed easier to cover up rather than pull it all apart and expose mistrust within his own troop. He didn't need reminded of the mistakes he'd made, but he deserved it. He waited until Fixer sat back down before looking up again. "I'm sorry for what happened to Sol, but we need to act now if we're going to make it right." He motioned towards the door. "Are you ready to go? We can plan on the move and I've got a ship ready to leave. I've got an idea of who can help us out and the sooner we get the plan in motion the better."

Fixer nodded, suddenly feeling as defeated as Bly looked. "...yeah, I'm ready to go." He stood up slowly, checking his belt pouches to ensure he had everything he needed. "Let's get moving. We don't want to waste any time."

Bly led them towards the door, collecting his own pack as he moved. When he opened the door and strode out in to the hall, he almost tripped over a trooper who had been standing at the door. Fek. He closed his eyes for a few seconds then raised a hand to push him gently aside. "I got your message, but I don't have time to speak to you right now." He tried to sidle past but the trooper moved in his way again with a desperate movement. "...Kirii...go back to your squad, or do I need to make it an order?"

The trooper, Kirii, refused to move aside; resting his hand on the wall to further block the route. "I'm coming with you, sir." He started to walk backwards as the two commandos pushed forward. "You were talking about him...they told me he died on planet. How can he be on Kamino if he's dead?"

Fixer watched the exchange without getting involved. He had no idea why this trooper was harassing them but he seemed to have some idea what was going on.

Bly continued forward, trying to duck past the blocking arms. "Look, if you don't get out of the way I _will_ order you back to your barracks."

Kirii spun around, his helmet clattering against the wall from where it was clipped on his belt. He no longer blocked their path, but he strode by their side, refusing to be left behind. "I don't care what you say. I've known Sol since we were decanted. I thought he was dead...who would lie about that to a brother?!" He kept up with them all the way to the hanger. "I don't care what you say, sir. If Sol is alive, then I want to come with you. You lied about all of this...you're not stopping me."

Bly looked like he was ready to turn on the trooper, but Fixer held up a hand. "We don't have time to argue. An extra pair of hands could be useful." He gave the ARC a shove up the waiting ramp of the small craft, knowing he was treading a fine line with insubordination, but there were more pressing matters right now. Bly's ship looked big enough to take another body. "You can have your little mutiny once we've got a course laid in. C'mon..."

Bly allowed himself to be pushed on board, heading straight for the cockpit. He motioned for them both to take a seat and strap in. "Okay, but when I say jump, Kirii, all I want to hear from you is 'how high?'" He wasn't happy to be involving another brother in this mission. Heading to Kamino was a terrifying prospect for any clone, never mind to try to sneak in and stage a rescue mission. He needed to call in advice.

To their credit, both Fixer and Kirii stayed silent as the ship navigated its way out of the hanger and away from the flagship.

Fixer waited until they made the jump to hyperspace before he unbuckled and moved to stand by the pilot's chair. "Okay, you said you had a contact...a plan?" He knew he sounded impatient but he hated not being aware of all the facts. He was a control freak, but that was what made him a good commando.

Bly checked the readings then turned away from the console. "When I did my ARC training, there was one of the Null ARCs there training troopers who showed a skill in spec ops. I got friendly with him and I think he could be the best person to go to right now." He could see from the blank look on Kirii's face that he didn't really know much about this initial batch. Fixer at least had a hint of recognition in his expression. "They were the very first batch and they would have been culled if it weren't for that nutcase training sergeant, Kal Skirata. They ran riot on Kamino when we were cadets and they do exactly what they like."

Kirii swallowed the nerves that had suddenly hit him when he realised what he was doing. "...but why is this Null going to be any help to us?"

Bly turned to give him a patient look. "...because, my cantankerous little vod, the Nulls know every inch of Kamino...even the bits that were out of bounds and out of reach. If anyone can get us in and out quietly, it's them."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Just a little scene tonight. Thanks for reading. ~ Atin<strong>_


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

Fixer and Kirii had sat silently while Bly spoke to the Null ARC, Jaing. He looked similar to any ARC, with the blue trim that distinguished him as a lieutenant. He was much more amicable than any prior half formed opinions they might have had of him. Maybe if you were going up against him, you'd find just how dangerous he could be, but while they spoke he came across as friendly, polite and to the point.

It was comforting to Fixer to hear this man take control as if he did this every day. He made it sound routine!

The hologram shimmered between them as he appeared to pause and give his surroundings another careful visual scan. He hadn't shared his location and his signal was strongly encrypted. It wasn't taken as a snub by any of them though; all ARCs tended to be working largely undercover and safety often relied on secrecy.

_"I'm sending coordinates for an RV before you approach Kamino. You'll meet with my brothers N-11 and N-7, and Sergeant Kal Skirata. Mereel is the most qualified person for getting you in and out of Kamino; he knows the place inside out, and their craft is a deep water hybrid. You're not going to be able to just fly in to Tipoca City...the Aay'han gives more options that they wouldn't even dream of expecting."_

Fixer shifted uncomfortably, realising that he hadn't thought of that issue. He'd only thought as far ahead as getting to Kamino but it did make sense that they would have to be sneaky with their arrival.

Kirii hadn't volunteered any comments until this point, but now that the conversation was coming to an end, he cleared his throat to make himself noticed. "Excuse me, sir, is there any way to track Sol's location? How do we know when he's arrived, or where he's being held?" He wanted to know where his brother was and what might be happening to him.

He was still reeling from the idea that Sol was still alive. It was completely overwhelming; he was only just coming to terms with the loss and now it was being completely turned on its head. When his team of ordnance engineers became trapped he had been sure that they would be recovered, but it wasn't until another troop pushed forward the next day that they were freed by chance. It was quite scary to have been left behind and deemed sacrificial. He had been injured in the initial blast and placed straight in to bacta when they reached the ship. It hadn't been until he was decanted and returned to his quarters that he realised Sol was gone. He had been informed that his brother had died in the initial assault and, having no reason to doubt it he went about trying to make sense of it all in his head.

Stupidly, the thought that cropped in to his mind was the realisation that he wouldn't get to put finishing touches to a particular tattoo, but that was just his mind looking for distractions. If he focused on the art only, he could try to block out the pain of losing his closest brother.

Jaing gave him a look before replying; obviously questioning the presence of a normal trooper on this mission.

_"I've checked the arrival data on the Kamino records, and he has arrived and is being processed."_

The look of terror must have been plain on Kirii's face because he continued quickly, holding up a hand to stall the panic.

_"Sorry, vod'ika, wrong choice of words; I mean he is being brought in to the system on Kamino and beginning to show up on their own databases as more than just an 'arrival'. I didn't mean that he is being processed in the way that you think."_

Kirii looked as if he were about to collapse, all the colour had drained from his face leaving him as white as his armour.

Fixer leant over to pat his shoulder in comfort while Bly finished his discussion with Jaing. "Easy, brother, it's okay. We'll get to him before anything happens."

Kirii had a traumatised, distant expression and his hands were trembling in his lap. "He is my closest friend; my family...I lost him once, I can't lose him again."

Fixer gave him a look that was all sympathy. He hadn't been told as much, but he was drawing the conclusion that these troopers had been everything in each other's life, and while a lie was bad, a lie that tore apart two brother's like this was completely inexcusable.

In this harsh life, there was little to be had but the relationships you could build between you for love and support. For one set of brothers to formulate a lie with the knowledge that it would destroy a bond like this; it was completely beyond his comprehension. He was glad that he wasn't involved with a squad like that because it was an ugly side that he didn't think he could consider tolerating.

* * *

><p>Despite knowing that they were meeting with more Null's, Kirii found himself having to consciously make the effort not to gape. They had reached the RV point ahead of schedule and waited until the other ship appeared. It was one of the strangest ships he's ever seen, but it <em>was<em> the first time he'd seen a hybrid vessel like this.

And the surprise from the outside was nothing compared to stepping inside. They were leaving Bly's shuttle on this uninhabited planet and heading out as a team, and what a team it was.

They had been greeted by a short man in gold armour, Sergeant Kal Skirata, who was flanked by two hugely intimidating Null ARC troopers. The captain was wearing his trooper armour with red trim and had an extremely serious expression. By contrast, his brother was jovial - at least in his expression - and he was kitted out in deep blue mandalorian armour.

Both were larger framed than Bly, Kirii and Fixer, but they didn't need that added bulk to be intimidating. They look looked like they never took no for an answer...and it was sobering to realise that that was probably true.

The ARC captain, who had been introduced by Sergeant Skirata as Ordo, moved up to take the pilots position and they settled in for the final hop to their destination.

It was all getting so very close. They would be reaching Kamino in a matter of mere hours and the second Null, Mereel took the time to go over plans with them.

He was more friendly and chatty than his brother had been, and seemed completely confident in his plans.

"We're going to arrive and submerge ten klicks from Tipoca; approach below the surface and avoid detection." He brought up a three dimensional schematic hologram of the city, rotating it to show the area where they would need to focus. "These are service vents on the underside of the superstructure and these are how we will get in. We'll get below, surface enough for those of us going up to stand on the casing and fire a rappel line up. Once we're in those tunnels you do exactly what I say, when I say it." His grin slipped in to a more serious expression. "We can't let this becoming a shooting match...we must be in and out unobserved, okay?"

Bly sat back and fidgeted with his armour. "Can you find out where he is before we arrive?" He gave Kirii a sideways look, knowing the trooper had jerked to attention at that thought. "Will we know where we're aiming, or are we going in blind?"

Mereel nudged off the hologram and flopped back in his chair. "I can't from here, but I can slice in to the first service terminal we find and get an exact location. Just do as I say...I've got this under control." He made a motion towards the small team. "We want minimum personnel involved. Commander Bly, your ARC training will give you a heads up on what we're trying to do. We can manage with just the two of us..."

Both Fixer and Kirii leapt in at this point, speaking over each other in their attempts to be heard and included. Mereel appeared to be trying to listen to both, and the glower from Ordo made his feelings known. These men never worked with anyone else, and it showed.

It was Kal who stepped in to take control of the situation. He held up hand for silence. "Take Fixer with you as well. Having two bodies as look out could be useful." He patted his son on the shoulder to ease him. "I know he's not ARC trained, but he's still SpecOps."

Fixer looked relieved that he was being taken along, but Kirii was completely defeated. He pushed himself to his feet and strode out the crew quarters, head downcast.

Kal followed him quietly, motioning for the others to stay and continue planning. He found Kirii in the galley, sitting at the table with his head bowed. "Are you okay, son?" He stood behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

Kirii sniffled and nodded, biting his lip to regain some sense of control. "Why can't I go, sir? He's my brother. I've known him longer than anyone..." He turned to look up in desperation. "Sir, please, I may not have their training but I can still work well." He knew it would make no difference; he understood the need for strict control but he _needed_ to be there to help Sol.

Kal stepped closer, placing his arm round the trooper's shoulder and ruffling his hair in comfort. Kirii flinched initially, not used to someone showing care. Any training sergeants that the troopers met had been all strict discipline and complete lack of empathy. It was completely alien to have one treat him as if his feelings mattered...to call him 'son'. He felt his own barriers begin to crumble. "...he will be okay, won't he, sir?"

The pleading desperation in his voice was like a kick to Kal's gut. He had a soft spot for any kid, and that's all these clones were, ultimately...kids in adult bodies, placed in to war. He nudged him along and sat down on the bench beside him. "You're going to stay with myself and Ordo; someone needs to be ready help them get him down from the service vent to the top of the Aay'han, and Ordo will need to keep her piloted accurately." He encouraged the young trooper to look at him, gently catching his chin in his fingers. _Just a kid, a scared kid_. "I need you to be there to help me with that stage of the operation, okay, it's just as important as sneaking around the service vents in Tipoca. Can you do that for me, ad'ika?"

Kirii looked in to the training sergeant's intense blue eyes, searching for a lifeline to cling to. He found one in the tenacious mandalorian. "Sir, yes, sir."

* * *

><p><strong><em>Thanks for reading. ~ Atin<em>**


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

Ordo carefully piloted the Aay'han in under the stilt city, keeping well under water until the ping on the navcomputer told him he was directly under the vent. Mereel moved to stand at the base of the ladder that would take them up to the top hatch. He look intent, but confident, whereas both Bly and Fixer had more nervous expressions on their faces. The idea of standing on top of the submersible while surrounded by churning ocean was extremely sobering.

Ordo brought the ship up vertically until it just breached the water surface. "Ready when you are, Mereel." He had a delicate job to keep the smallest surface area possible visible above the water, and there was always the risk of curious aiwhas coming to investigate this strange invader in to their world, but Ordo was a perfect pilot.

Kal stood by the ladder, patting them each on the shoulder before the ascended. "Take care, and no more risks than is necessary, okay?" He knew there was no point telling them not to take risks when they were intent on rescuing a brother, but it was impossible not to be anxious for them. Mereel was his boy, and he had a soft spot for any clone that into his sphere of influence. "Once you're all up and in, we'll draw back under the surface. Let us know when you're on your way back and we'll be ready to help you."

Mereel was first to step out, taking a moment to assess the wind conditions before firing his rappel line up to the superstructure above. He allowed his winch to take his weight, ascending as quickly as he could. The hatch was still but a few sold thumps loosened the clasps and he was able to pull it open. It was a positive thing because it meant that nobody bothered to use or maintain these vents, so they were less likely to run into an trouble or monitoring equipment. He hauled himself up in to the vent and turned to wait for the others.

Bly was next up, making a tidy climb, closely followed by Fixer. The Wolfpack commando was less confident in his ascension but he soon made it in to the vent behind Bly.

Mereel glanced back to ensure they were ready to move. The vent was tall enough for them to move on their hands and knees, which was better than having to move on their stomach, but it was still cramped in full armour. He waited until Fixer pulled the hatch shut behind them then let his humour be heard. "What's the matter, ner vod? Did nobody ever teach you how to rappel tidily?"

Fixer felt his cheeks heating and was glad of his helmet to hide it. "Not keen on heights...never have been." It wasn't so bad coming up but going back he would have to look down at the drop and he was not looking forward to that at all. Hopefully having Sol would help him focus on something other than his fear. "Everyone has something that scares them...don't they?"

Mereel paused for a second then nodded his head once, leading the way towards the detention area. "Thunder storms."

Fixer was going to question that but felt it was rude, and his thought was interrupted by Bly's input.

"Dark, confined spaces..."

Mereel snorted in amusement. "What...like a pitch black Tipoca City air vent?" He could see Bly nodding in his 360 HUD. "Sorry, vod...not laughing at you, it's just...you've got to admit it's a funny admission when we're here."

Bly concentrated on following on Mereel's heels, ignoring the feeling of his back brushing the top of the vent. "Understood. I've got used to it over the years. Fortunately I'm usually to one issuing orders and that distracts my attention enough." He was intent on following every movement that Mereel made ahead of him, knowing that he couldn't get lost or trapped when he had a brother both in front and behind.

It didn't take Mereel long to locate a hatch which brought him out above a data port and he dropped down in to the corridor to slice in and locate Sol. He hauled himself back up in to the vent as he heard footsteps and chattering approaching.

They stayed still and silent until the stream of cadets passed below them.

Once the danger had gone Mereel continued to lead them through the maze of ventilation ducts. "He's been moved; he's not being held among those for reconditioning anymore...he's in a cell awaiting termination." He heard both gasps of shock and fear. "I know, I know, but we just have to keep moving and get to him first. It's not far away, thank the manda."

None of that was enough to quell Fixer's nerves and he pushed forward in to Bly, forcing him to crawl faster. Every moment wasted could be those seconds in which Sol lost his life.

* * *

><p>Mereel came to a halt over another vent. It looked just the same as every other hatched they'd passed but below them now was the hallway of cells for termination. He popped the hatch and ducked his head down to check for activity. "All clear, let's move. Bly, come with me and get out the vent for a bit...Fixer, stay and be ready to help us back in quickly if needs be."<p>

He lowered himself slowly, then dropped down as silently as possible, waving for Bly to follow.

They hurried along the hall, keeping watch to ensure nobody crept up. It was pretty dull and quiet compared to the normal areas of Kamino, but for the purposes of extraction, that was a bonus.

Mereel came to a halt at the correct door and immediate set to slicing the controls.

Bly hovered at his shoulder, keeping an eye out up and down the hall, but it was a simple lock for the Null and the soft beep marked his success.

The door hissed back and they stepped in quickly and closed it again behind them.

"...Fek..."

Bly could just make out shapes with the spectral enhancements in his helmet, but it wasn't until Mereel flipped on a glow rod that he realised that the shapes were actually two bodies.

Sol lay on his side in the corner but he wasn't alone; there was a second trooper in the tiny cell.

"Who...who are you?"

He wasn't as old as the rest of them; he looked to be still cadet aged, around 17 years old. Mereel moved forward and knelt beside them, trying to reach past the cadet to assess Sol's condition, but the cadet wouldn't move. He was protecting Sol as best he could, placing himself in the way of danger. He was dressed in fatigues, the same as Sol, but his right sleeve hung limp and empty from midway between his wrist and elbow and his balance was canted such that he seemed to favour that side of his body.

Bly stepped forward beside Mereel, holding his hands away from his weapon to show he meant no harm. "We're brothers...we're not here to harm you."

"Who are you?" It was said with more desperation this time, and the words were pronounced slightly abnormally - not enough to sound different, but almost as if he were thinking about them.

Bly opened his mouth to repeat himself, but Mereel held a hand up to silence him then popped the seal on his helmet and lifted it away. He raised the glow rod to make sure his face was illuminated and that he had the cadet's full attention. "You can't hear me, can you?" He pulled a face of frustration when the cadet shook his head sadly. "What's your name, not your designation, just your name?"

The cadet glanced up at Bly, obviously nervous of someone he couldn't communicate with. He couldn't lip read through a helmet. "Shiv...sir."

Mereel gave another nod. "Okay, Shiv, we're getting you both out of here. My name is Mereel, I'm a Null ARC lieutenant, and this is Commander Bly." He could see the expression change on the teens face when he mentioned the word Null, but he bulldozed on; they were already wasting too much time. "I need you to follow us, and follow our guidance. I know you can't hear anything and I'll need to put my bucket back on when we leave, but we will keep you between us. Don't panic...don't make a noise...just do as we do." He pushed him gently aside so that he could check Sol's pulse. "How has he been?"

Shiv slid out of the way, his one hand clasped anxiously in the hem of his tunic. "I don't know, Mereel, sir..." He flinched; the sir was automatic. "He was thrown in with me a few hours ago. He wasn't great then but now he's barely conscious. I couldn't do anything to help him, sir...they don't even give us water when we're in here. It's a waste of resources, they say." He looked so distressed at being unable to have helped a brother that Bly moved forward to squeeze his shoulder in silent comfort.

Mereel gathered cajoled and jostled the medic until he was concious enough to stagger to his feet. "Easy, vod'ika, I'm going to carry you a little bit." He got a good grip and hefted him up over his shoulders, feeling him exhale in a shudder and groan. "I know it's not helping you breathe at all but it's not far, then we're going up in to the vents, okay? Shiv? Did you catch that? We're going out, follow Bly, and then we're going straight up into the duct work."

As it turned out, Shiv's injuries extended to more than deafness and an amputation. He was also a little unsteady on his feet. His legs would take his weight, but every few steps his balance would falter a little and Bly had to take his arm so that they could make quicker progress.

Getting back up in to the ducting was much harder than anticipated. Sol was in no condition to jump and scramble, so Fixer had to lower a length of cable that could be looped around under his arms and between him pulling and Mereel pushing, they got the medic up through the opening in the ceiling. Bly used the cable to pull himself up but Mereel was in the process of helping Shiv when footsteps echoed in the empty hallway.

Mereel glanced left and right, tensed and ready to fight. They did not want to alert anyone to their presence but if needs be, they would shoot. "C'mon, Shiv, climb..." He knew it was hopeless because the cadet couldn't see his face to lip read, and he was doing his best with only one and a half arms, but it was getting too close for comfort.

"Right, Mereel, jump...jump and I'll pull you in..." It was Bly hanging in the vent opening.

Without hesitation, Mereel leapt; grabbing the hand that was reaching out to him and praying that he would be up in time. Once he got his fingers on to the lip of the duct he was able to pull himself in quickly and Bly lowered the hatch promptly, but silently, behind them.

They held their breath and kept perfectly still, apart from Sol who was wheezing for air but hopefully that sound wouldn't be noticed, waiting for the footsteps to pass. Mereel watched through the slats in the vent as a Kaminoan paused at the cell next to the one that had been inhabited by Sol and Shiv. He aiwha bait entered and returned leading a young cadet.

Shiv made to move and open his mouth but Bly grabbed him, placing a hand over his mouth to keep him quiet.

The Kaminoan had no interest in the kid; it just had a job to do and treated each clone as a product waiting to be processed. The child was terrified, tears running down his cheeks in noisy, sniffling sobs.

Mereel clenched his fingers; wanting to act, but knowing that if they tried to save this kid, they'd all end up trapped. They were lucky to get what they had come for. They couldn't allow themselves to dwell on what was happening around them or they'd never leave. It was an image he was sure would never leave his mind. _Be brave, little ad'ika, there's a place for you in the manda._

He forced himself to look away and they waited until the footsteps had disappeared in to the distance.

Shiv was still tight in Bly's grip, but he wasn't struggling. Bly's grip seemed to be as much a manifestation of his own inner thoughts.

Mereel motioned back down the vent. "Fixer, go first, take point, then Bly. Bly, you'll need to drag Sol, I don't think he can make it under his own steam. His fatigues will help him slide along. Then you Shiv, and I'll follow up and guard the rear." He watched them squeeze around each other in a flurry of limbs in the tight space, then took his place behind Shiv as they began to slog back. "As fast as you can. I don't know how long they take to do what they're doing, but if they get to Sol's cell before we get out then we're in trouble."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Well, since it is Halloween I have allowed myself a night off to watch Hocus Pocus and write. Finally getting to the action here. Anyone remember Shiv...or poor, freezing trooper in the webcomic 'Cold Snap'...it's not him as such, cause this Shiv was training in bomb disposal, but I've recycled the name in memory of that cold assault trooper, Shiv - yet another trooper we got attached to over a few panels and then lost in the endless clone cull. ~ Atin<strong>_


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter**** 18**

It was slow work despite Mereel's encouragement and they were all exhausted by the time they reached the exit hatch. They had called ahead to let them know they were coming - and with an extra body - but it was now the challenge of how to get them all down again.

There was no way Sol could descent a cable himself so Bly prepared a looped harness with his own cable and prepared to fit it to Sol. Mereel stopped him, motioning for him to help Shiv down instead. With only one hand, he would be unable to lower himself down a fixed line to the Aay'han so he'd need to go down with Bly in the harness. He was conscious and capable of gripping, which Sol wasn't.

"Fixer first, then Bly and Shiv," Mereel pointed down the drop to emphasise the point for Shiv. "I've got a winch mechanism on my belt, that leaves my hands free so I'll go down with Sol last."

Fixer had moved right up to the edge of the hatch but come to an abrupt halt. It was a fifty metre drop from the hatch to the ship and it made his blood run cold. He couldn't take the step off the edge.

Bly waited for a few seconds then edged passed him with Shiv strapped and gripping tightly to him. He squeezed Fixer's arm in encouragement. "We'll go first then you come right after me, okay, don't think about it, just do it."

Fixer squeezed his eyes shut then forced himself to watch as Bly made the descent look easy. As he began to slither out to grip the cable he could feel the wind and rain hammering against his armour. He had to close his eyes, dropping hand over hand for what seemed like an eternity until he felt two pairs of hands grabbing his legs and guiding him on to the casing. He resisted the urge to sink down on to his knees to get as close to 'ground' as possible and made his way on trembling legs towards the ladder to follow Bly and Shiv in to the body of the ship.

Mereel had connected his own winch cable to the underside of the superstructure and started his descent as soon as Fixer touched down. It was hard to get down out the vent with his arms full of unconscious trooper and he had to push himself out with some force which was a rather painful jolt that made the winch motor squeal. It seemed to be taking both their weights, but it was heating up quickly. The huge gusting gales and driving rain were building up on what had been a minor swing when they started.

They were halfway down when their concern about curious aiwhas was given more weight. The first one was getting closer than was comfortable with the Aay'han, obviously curious of the other 'creature' in its water space. He had no idea what Ordo did, but it scattered the small pod without raising an obvious alarm. Unfortunately, one of the retreating aiwhas took flight straight towards the dangling Null and his precious cargo. Mereel curled in automatically and the creature missed them by a few metres. The impact may have been avoided, but the airflow around its beating wings sent them into a dizzying, pendulum like spin and swing.

The twisting motion was destroying the motor and the risk of it shattering and dropping them the remaining twenty meters was increasing with every second.

Mereel began to rearrange his grip, getting as good a grip on Sol as he could with one hand and with his free one, he started to pull the reserve cable free of the housing and free of the motor mechanism. This left him hanging by the one handed grip, forced to wrap his legs around the dangling cable in the hope of gaining better purchase. He was intended to lower himself in a slow and controlled manner, but the aiwha had sprayed them with salt water as if flapped and his grip was decreased by this watery lack of friction.

He could hear Kal shouting at him but the wind was carrying away the words. He tensed his arm as much as possible, trying to slow his slide, but he was starting to pick up speed. His hand was burning even through the glove and the distance was closing faster than he would like. If he hit the deck, his armour would protect them both, but the cable was swinging so erratically that he was over the water more than he was over the deck.

He finally lost his grip five metres short of his target. The friction had completely eaten through the material of his glove and the second it touched skin he could no longer hold on. A few millimetres of cable running through his hand was enough to lift the skin and he came loose, being thrown wide of the ship by his own momentum.

They hit the water and were immediately submerged by a wave. Mereel kicked himself up to the surface, knowing that if he didn't keep Sol above water he'd drown. The sting of the salt water on his hand was like a stim shot and he tightened his grip, swimming as hard as he could towards the ship. Kal and Kirii had thrown a line out and he wrapped his arm around it, unable to grip with his hand. It was a relief to be assisted and between their pulling and his swimming, he made it back to the ships surface within a minute.

Kal pulled Kirii up onto the casing, allowing Mereel to drag himself up as well. He motioned towards the ladder down in to the ship. "Get down, ad'ike, now. C'mon, move." The aiwhas were gathering again and they didn't want any more encounters until they were all safely inside.

Kirii hesitated for a moment but bolted down the ladder, closely followed by Kal.

Mereel was last down, supporting Sol across his shoulders again to get down the ladder.

* * *

><p>Ordo was shouting from the cockpit, demanding to know if they were all in. He wanted to get them up before the aiwhas bumped up against them again. He heard the hatch slam, checked all seals for integrity, then submerged the vessel and set her on a course away from Tipoca City, staying below the water surface.<p>

As soon as he had autopilot engaged, he rushed back to see what was going on.

Mereel was in the process of pulling off his wet armour, looking decidedly green after his nausea inducing, spinning descent.

Kal was busily assisting Fixer. Between them they were stripping the medic of his soaked clothing and administering pre-measured syringes.

Kirii was shedding his own armour and body suit at record speed, leaving himself standing in just his regulation underwear. He was white with terror, watching everything happening to his brother.

Kal pointed towards the corner of the room where Bly had pulled down two bedrolls to make a comfortable area. "Sit, quick..." He waited until Kirii had lowered himself down then helped Fixer to carry Sol over to him. Between them they lowered the medic in to Kirii's waiting arms, then wrapped them both in a tight cocoon of blankets. He heard Kirii's squawk of shock at the freezing temperature of his brother's skin against his own. It wasn't a noise of protest; just an involuntary sound. "I hate to say it, but I wish we had Vau here with us." He was concerned by the shallow, wet sound of Sol's breathing. The medic didn't seem to be drawing in a full breath, despite struggling for each and every one. His skin was a waxy grey and his lips tinged with blue. "Ordo'ika, son, come and help me here."

Ordo knelt by his side and gave his own assessment of the patient. He wasn't a medic by any stretch of the imagination, but he had a good, theoretical understand of the army's med manuals.

"Ghost said pneumonia..." Fixer volunteered, hovering anxiously behind them. "He nearly drowned around a week ago...signed himself out the medbay, typical medic..."

Ordo nodded silently, checking Sol's pulse and running through his eidetic recall of reading the in depth manuals years and years ago. He took a moment to gather the facts in his head before drawing the most relevant conclusion. "Pleural effusion, Kal'buir, pus and fluid preventing his lungs inflating." He felt nerves swell in him, as they always did when he was running on theory alone in an emergency. "He's hardly breathing; he needs strong antibiotics but none of that will matter if we don't help him breathe." He turned to Mereel. "We need the medkit and a length of sterile tubing. Doesn't matter what it's for, as long as it's relatively rigid."

Kal looked from Ordo to the patient, and then up at Mereel. "What do you need to do, son?" He was pretty sure he had the gist of it, but he needed to hear it clarified.

Mereel rose to rummage through the drawers of equipment. "Cut in to the cavity, insert a tube and drain the pus, buir." He looked to have made the same conclusions as Ordo. "It's the only solution for a case as critical as this. If you're squeamish I suggest stepping out for a moment."

Kal shook his head, settling beside Kirii for moral support...the poor trooper looked completely overwhelmed and terrified for the brother curled up against his chest. "I'm not going anywhere, son, I never would."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Thanks for reading ~ Atin<strong>_


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

Shiv tried not to watch as Ordo used what had been scavenge from the med supplies to fit a chest drain. It was grisly work and he was glad the patient was unconscious. He had no idea how this Null could perform such tasks without even being a medic, but there was a lot about the Nulls that was mystery - ranging from the feasible to the truly insane.

It had all happened so fast he was finding it hard to get his head around. He had been waiting on death in his tiny cell; scared, alone and aching from unhealed wounds.

The last thing he remembered before that was being on a training exercise. He had a bomb to defuse so that his squad could get through. He'd realised at those crucial final moments that he wasn't going to manage, there was a hidden trick that he hadn't been expecting - cruel, but then they had to be the best - and he had bellowed a warning to all those around him. He had realised that he couldn't defuse it in enough time and he would have made it to safety, catching up with his retreating squad, if it weren't for the overviewing training sergeant. Instead of letting him run, they had shot him with a stun that had been enough to send him to the ground just as he was turning away. This was enough to prevent him moving soon enough and he was lifted by the shock wave of the explosion and knocked unconscious, mercifully before he felt the pain.

He had no idea how long he was kept in the medbay - or whether he was moved straight in the disposal unit. His wounds had the strange, shiny quality that said there had been bacta applied but not for any great length in time, and his best guess was that his brothers tried to help him.

He glanced down at his own arm, pulling back the damp sleeve of his fatigues to examine the damage for the first time in proper light. He'd regained consciousness in the cell and immediately knew where he was. His wounds were beyond treatable. There was no point fitting a cadet with a cybernetic; it didn't make sense at all for the Kaminoans to be merciful. He was a product that had failed.

Then they had thrown this trooper in with him without a single word. He was older than Shiv but in fatigues it was impossible to guess where he was from or who he'd served with. What was obvious was that he was very ill...so ill that Shiv was scared that he'd just give up breathing and die by his side. And he was powerless to do anything.

Without even a water bottle, he was helpless to do anything to ease the brother's discomfort, but he had positioned him in what he hoped was a relatively comfortable position and settled by his side, stroking his hair and chatting to him - just in case he was conscious enough to hear him.

Every time the footsteps echoed in the hall, he was sure they were going to open their door and take them for processing. And every time it _wasn't_ their turn, he felt an overwhelming wave of relief and grief, because for every moment they got to live, there was another brother losing his life at the hands of some emotionless Kaminoan.

The skin over his injuries was stretched and painful, but it didn't look infected or nasty, which was a blessing. It wouldn't heal nicely and it would scar terribly, but none of that mattered. He was alive and away from Kamino for the first time in his life. He knew they hadn't come to save him, but they hadn't left him behind and for that he was eternally grateful.

He watched as Ordo finished his incision and carefully pressed the tubing through the layers of skin and muscle. It was gory, but fascinating. He had to look away as the fluid started to drain though.

He jerked in shock as Mereel gently touched his shoulder to get his attention. He turned so that he could watch him speak.

"Are you okay? This must have been a bit of a shock from start to finish for you."

Shiv smiled at that understatement. "A good shock, sir." He pulled the sleeve back down over his stump, not really wanting to look at it. He had the beginnings of fear building in his mind. He was in limbo now. He wasn't safe…he had vanished from death row and he could never try to return. He bit his lip and gave the Null a nervous glance. "What next?"

Mereel patted his shoulder. "Don't worry about that just now, we'll sort that out. Come with me and we'll get you some dry clothes and some skraan…leave Ordo to his work." He motioned at Fixer to get his attention. "Hey, Bly…Fix, come and help me get some food sorted out."

He encouraged them out the door, leaving Ordo and Kal with the pair of curled up troopers.

* * *

><p>Kirii hadn't moved since he'd sat down; scared that if he shifted position the precious bundle in his arms might disappear. He could believe what had happened in the past twenty four hours. Yesterday he was living in a world alone, thinking that his best friend was dead – then he'd realised that something unusual was going on. He'd seen patterns of activity in both his own records and those of his lost brother. He shouldn't be looking through Sol's records, but he had known his brother's access codes when they were together, and it was comforting to go through the reports and think of the times when they were together. It didn't bring him back, but it was the best he had found to deal with the loss.<p>

And now here he was, on the floor of a strange ship, among people he didn't know, with his closest friend there in his arms.

Ordo's medical intervention had improved Sol's breathing and he was no longer wheezing in shallow breaths. His respiration was still laboured but he had warmed up and was no longer a block of ice against him.

In fact, it was the most comfortable he'd been in months and he could close his eyes and sleep if he'd wanted to, but instead he stayed awake, listening to every breath; feeling every rise of the medic's ribs under his arm.

Ordo had returned to the pilot's chair to get them to the RV point where they had left the shuttle. He had no idea what was going on, but when he had expressed his concerns, Kal had waved the fears away and told him to relax and just concentrate on Sol.

The old Mandalorian was a comforting presence, sitting at the table a few metres away; not close enough to impinge on his time with Sol, but near enough to provide Kirii with a little security.

He pulled the blankets tighter around then and tightened his grip on his brother, concentrating on the feeling against his skin. It was Sol. Not imagination…not a blanket that held a lingering scent of Sol…this was Sol. He may be ill but he could get better, and Kirii had no intention of letting him out of his sight ever again. If anyone even contemplated laying a finger on him, they would have Kirii to get past first.

Nobody understood Sol – they never had. Very few brother's had taken the time to get to know the medic and see beyond his volatile façade.

Sol had always been an unpredictable character, but he wasn't bad. Kirii had known him for ever; they had been part of the same batch and there wasn't a moment in his childhood that he hadn't shared with him. Every experience, good and bad, every change, every lesson…they'd gone through it all together.

Sol had been a sharp kid and when he hit puberty the sharp nature had become more volatile and violent, but Kirii had been there at every step to prevent his fiery temper from getting him on the wrong side of the Kaminoans. They looked out for each other. There wasn't much to enjoy about being a clone, but the close bond made it all tolerable.

It pained Kirii to think that he hadn't been there when Sol needed him. He had thought that Sol was better as an adult – more in control – but it became obvious that the first time under stress without Kirii by his side was enough to spark an explosion. If only he'd been there…but if he'd been there, then he wouldn't be lost and Sol wouldn't be distressed and the whole thing wouldn't have happened….

There was no point in thinking about the 'what ifs'. What had happened was past and now they just had to look towards the future and how they could protect each other. He had no idea how this would all resolve itself; how could they return when Sol had been extracted from a death sentence. They couldn't just waltz back as if nothing had happened.

But Kal had said he was sorting it out, and despite having only just met this man, he was sure that he would do just that. He had done exactly as he said so far, pulling off a miraculous rescue from under the very noses of the kaminoans, so solving the next set of problems would seem like nothing compared to that.

Whatever happened, he didn't care, as long as he could sit here wrapped up warm with his brother resting in his arms. It didn't take much to make him happy, and Sol's presence was the only thing he cared about. Whatever happened, as long as he was there by his side, it would all be okay.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Real life has been getting in the way of updates...so sorry for the 'tide you over' chapter. Plot will get going again as soon as I get a spare moment! ~ Atin<em>**


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

The journey back to the RV point – and Bly's abandoned shuttle – was largely silent up until the final fifteen minutes.

When Ordo announced that they were preparing their approach, Kal called together all the passengers and they sat down at the table near to where Kirii was sitting with Sol. Mereel had gone up to sit with Ordo; knowing what Kal planned to discuss and not needing to hear it.

Shiv sat down opposite Bly and Fixer; not quite knowing where he was welcome yet. The trooper, Sol, didn't need him anymore now that his brother had found him and had him in his arms so he'd found himself idly passing time with Mereel and even cautiously sitting with Ordo for a while. The Null captain didn't make casual conversation, but that was fine by the cadet. It saved him having to stare at someone's lips to try to work out the conversation. Listening was hard work without your ears.

Kal stood between those at the table and the two on the floor, pacing back and forth a little as he thought about what he was going to say. "I've been speaking to a friend about our predicament here." He made sure to remember to face towards the deaf trooper, despite his compulsion to move. "As we currently stand, Shiv and Sol are stolen property, and Kirii is AWOL. Thanks to General Plo Koon, Bly and Fixer have a reason to have been away. He sent them on a mission together…a mission with no briefing notes and little records other than the date they left…but it covers them and no questions will be asked when they return." He gave them a wry smile. It was hardly a secret that he didn't trust any Jedi, but Plo Koon seemed to do right by his men. "I can't tell you where, not until I have your decision, but I can offer you somewhere safe to go to…to make a life. I can't tell you where until I have your decision, but if you can trust me a little longer, I promise you it will be your best chance for a safe future." He watched the expressions on their faces.

Shiv looked anxious, his attention flicking towards the cockpit. He had been enjoying the company of the Nulls and whenever he looked at Sol and Kirii, he had the overwhelming sense of 'three's a crowd'. In reality, he knew he couldn't stay here with the Nulls…he didn't have any idea what they got up to, but it would be dangerous, independent work and he could offer them nothing in the way of assistance. He was only 9 years old…nearly a graduated trooper, but not quite. He stood to the same height as the other men and had pretty much the same physique, but he was doomed to a life as an eternal failure. They might be able to say they deserted the Grand Army of the Republic – all Shiv could say was that he failed to pass training and got himself blown up.

Kal seemed to be able to read his mind like a book. "Plenty folk get by with only one arm, and your instability on your feet may improve with time, but you can walk with a cane to assist your balance. You're perfectly capable of living a life as a normal man, son." He desperately wanted to explain to him that Mandalorian's were very patient with wounded soldiers – it came with being a mercenary culture – you took the time to help those who were unsteady, or maybe had issues from a trauma, because you never knew when that could be you, or your own family. Being injured wasn't a shame on Mandalore.

Kirii had a much calmer expression. He looked to Bly, who gave a small, discreet nod. "I agree with whatever your terms are. I just want a chance at life." He glanced down at his sleeping brother. "I want a life for Sol. He was never temperamentally suited to being a trooper…I did my best to help him through…to keep him safe from the Kaminoans, and then from trouble with brothers. He's never shown me any hint of violence despite what he may be like with others. It just all overwhelmed him." He stared in defocus at the table. "He said that everything was uncomfortable, he didn't understand how normally brothers communicated and got on so well. He just couldn't do it. He said it made his mind itch." His eyes focused in sudden intent, trying to put the past behind him. "So I agree to your terms. It's the best chance he has, and where ever he goes, I go too."

Kal stepped over and squeezed his shoulder, feeling the sharp sting of tears behind his eyes. The comparison between those two and how his little Nulls had acted when he first met them was painfully obvious. It was a strong reminder just how alike all these men were. It didn't matter that Mereel and Ordo were slightly different; an early trial – powerful ARC troopers, they had defended each other with a fiery determination despite their overwhelming terror. And here were two ordinary troopers doing exactly the same thing. Kirii had attempted to place himself between Sol and anything likely to overwhelm him, in just the same way as the young Ordo had stood between his brothers and the face of death. "You don't know what my terms are, ad'ika." There was humour in his voice; trying to take the lump from his throat.

Kirii reached up to touch the hand that was resting on his shoulder and squeezed back. "I trust you, sir." He looked up at Shiv, who still looked anxious. There may only be a few years difference between them, but battle aged the clones rapidly and Shiv was looking extremely fresh faced and vulnerable in comparison. He caught the cadet's attention and tried a smile that he hoped was comforting. "It'll be okay, vod'ika. Wherever we go, we'll be together, and as long as we stick together we'll be fine. I promise."

They were interrupted by Ordo's voice announcing that they were about to land.

Kal looked at Shiv, raising an eyebrow in silent question.

Shiv nodded slowly, glancing across at Kirii for confirmation. "I'm in, sir."

Kal was satisfied. He had no idea what he'd have done if they'd said no. He couldn't take them around in the Aay'han with him…he took risks, but he couldn't have wanted men on his ship for any length of time. Rav would take good care of them for him; get them set up. He could trust her. She was already overseeing the construction work of his own bolt hole. He owed her…but she always seemed to shrug it off as nothing. She had cared for her boys as well. She understood what he was trying to do.

Bly and Fixer were preparing to disembark, although Fixer was hanging back, casting glances towards Kirii and Sol. Kal caught his arm discreetly and pulled him aside. "Go and say goodbye. You've got time for that."

Fixer hovered for a moment, knowing that he wanted to say his goodbyes but unsure what he would actually say to someone unconscious. He stepped across the deck and knelt down beside them, tilting his head so he could look at Sol's face. The medic's features were relaxed; he no longer looked to be in pain, but he was still stubbornly unconscious, his cheek resting against Kirii's shoulder. Fixer reached out to gently stroke his hair a few times, running a finger over his cheek. "I'm glad you're safe, brother. I'm glad you've found Kirii again. I'll tell them all that you are safe. I won't know where you are going, but I will tell him that you are okay." He thought of Wolffe, knowing that returning empty handed was going to break the commander's heart. _Wolffe didn't deserve that. He worked so hard for the company, never backing away from his responsibilities. Ghost had thought he looked happier for the first time since his meeting with Ventress. Sol had been a breath of fresh air for him, and while he was discreet, they had noticed his body language towards the medic…there was an affection there. He was professional about it but a clone could read the nuances and those close to him had noticed the change in him when Sol was around._ Fixer knew that he would take Sol's loss with his usual calm strength, but they'd have to pay close attention to him. Ghost had made the comment that Sol had managed what none of them had ever succeeded with; he had reminded Wolffe that he could always confide in his brother's…he didn't always have to be purely 'the commander'. They would all have to take from his lesson and ensure that the looked after the commander, just like he looked after them. Fixer took a deep breath, preparing to get to his feet again. "He'll miss you Sol. Maybe in another life…" He ducked his head, feeling the lump in his throat. "Maybe in another life it would have worked out." He felt Kirii's hand on his shoulder and smiled in thanks, swiping away the tears before they could get going. "Good luck, vode."

* * *

><p>The two commandos had left the Aay'han, leaving in their own shuttle to return to their respective companies. Shiv sat alone at the table now, feeling very alone, and very scared. Mereel was still occupying the co-pilots seat and Kal was up front talking to them.<p>

He leapt in shock as a damp sock hit his shoulder and he spun around towards its source.

Kirii gave an apologetic grin. "Sorry, couldn't think how to get your attention." He crooked a finger, beckoning him over. "C'mere, vod'ika." He patted the space on the bedroll beside him.

Shiv got up and limped over, his leg stiff with sitting still so long. He had to use the wall as a support as he collapsed down at their side. He leaned up against the wall, brushing shoulders with Kirii and massaging the aching muscles in his thigh. Nothing was broken, but his knee was dodgy and the other muscles were getting stiff from compensating for it.

Kirii rested his free hand on Shiv's thigh, his other occupied with holding Sol against him. He had his right leg straight and the other bent to support his brother's back, his left arm around his shoulders to help him in place. He was happy to sit silent but Shiv turned his attention to Sol, marvelling at the small areas of highly decorated skin visible where the blankets dipped.

He'd never seen a brother with art like that on his body.

"Is he your…" He didn't know how to finish his sentence politely, hanging his head as the blush crept across his cheeks. He made a gesture towards them both, indicating their lack of clothing and proximity. It would have been acceptable to dress again once Sol's body temperature was back to normal, but they had stayed wrapped together.

Kirii actually laughed, much to Shiv's surprise – although it was strange to witness a laugh in silence.

"Oh, no, vod'ika. He's my closest friend; my batch mate. I would like my partner to be of the curvy female persuasion…not that I've got near to one of them, but a man can dream. Sol likes a little bit of muscle though."

Shiv nodded quickly, glad that he hadn't offended him. He was bad at things like this…he had a tendency to leap in and think after he'd already spoken. At least he hadn't got punched for it. He wanted to get to know the brothers that were to become his family, but he hadn't intended to start off at the deep end like this with the questioning. Instead he settled back and closed his eyes, ready to catch up with a little sleep while they headed to their unknown destination. It had been an intense few hours and he had no idea how long it had been since he'd slept properly.

* * *

><p>The first thing that Sol felt was the warmth against his skin. It wasn't bacta but he also knew he wasn't in his bunk. His bed was living and breathing, and warm.<p>

Everything was aching and there was a sharp pain in his ribs. _Pneumonia_. It was gradually come back to him. He knew what was wrong but they hadn't allowed him any treatment.

A flicker of panic spread through him. Kamino…was he on Kamino now? Why would Kamino be all cosy and comfortable though…it was white walls and sterile rooms?

His right hand side was against warm flesh and there was the thrumming of a ships engines in the background._ Not Kamino then_. With a firm resolve, he gradually managed to get his eyes open despite the leaden feeling in his body.

It was definitely another body that he was curled up against. His head was resting on their shoulder, cheek resting on the ridge of the collar bone. He wanted to move and look up to see who it was but he couldn't raise enough energy.

He was staring at the tan flesh when he gradually became aware of a ridge of scar tissue just in his eye line. A deep and harsh scar that ran across the right collar bone at a 45 degree angle. It was a familiar injury. He knew it. He'd treated it in the field on their second deployment. It had been accompanied by a cracked collar bone and dislocated shoulder. His hands had shook so much trying to reduce the dislocation that his patient had managed a pained laugh. This was all so familiar.

_Kirii?_

But Kirii was dead. It wasn't him…it couldn't be him.

Maybe he was dreaming. Maybe he was hallucinating. Or maybe he was dead…maybe this was some sort of out of body experience.

He flexed his fingers. They were resting on the rib cage of the cosy, fictional body under him. It all felt so real.

* * *

><p>Kirii was now a resting spot for two troopers. He had Sol in his arms, and now Shiv had fallen asleep with his head on his shoulder. He didn't mind, although he was beginning to get stiff.<p>

He felt the fingers on his side move against his ribs, flexing and stroking over his skin. He tensed automatically, shifting the body in his arms so that he could look at him.

"Sol? Vod'ika?"

He wanted to weep with joy. His brother was awake; weak and a little confused looking, but he was awake.

Sol had realised that the body was real when it started to move him. He was powerless to prevent it; his own body weakened by the fever and infection. He forced himself to keep his eyes open. He blinked up at the light, squinting a little. He knew he recognised the scar and he definitely recognised the silly goatee and untidy hairstyle of his brother.

"Kirii?"_ It couldn't be real_. "Kirii, are we both dead?"

Kirii giggled through a flood of tears, lowering himself to hug his brother close. "No, you're not dead…I'm not dead. We're both very much alive."

He felt that arms tighten around him, returning the hug with as much strength as could be mustered.

"What happened…where are we?"

"It doesn't matter, nothing matters right now." He placed a kiss on his brother's hair, feeling Sol's tears against his chest. "I'll explain it all later but just hush right now; relax, verd'ika, it's all over."

Sol was not a man of many words, but exhausted confusion seemed to keep him rambling. "Kirii?"

"Sol'ika?"

Sol shuffled a little, his hand moving over his Kirii's side. "Are you wearing anything?" All he could feel was his own skin brushing against his brothers and that confused him immensely.

He was sick. He had been on his way to death. Kirii was meant to be dead. And more importantly, Kirii didn't swing this way.

"Yes, Sol, I do have underwear on. You were hypothermic…if someone had to cuddle you, it was going to be me!"

There was a few moments of silence before Sol spoke again, his mind having moved to the next logical question down the line. As a medic he was very familiar with the concept of shared body head. It was of vital importance in cases where the patient was freezing. It usually required skin to skin contact.

"Kirii?"

"Yes?" Kirii had a good idea where this was going. Sol was intensely private, especially around people he didn't know.

There was a few seconds silence before the resigned voice spoke up again.

"How many of those on this ship saw me before the blankets were added."

"…all of them, vod'ika, every last one of them."

* * *

><p><em><strong>I was so looking forward to writing this chapter. :) <strong>__**And I wanted it to end on a laugh, just in case it was getting a bit too 'sob story'.**_

_**This story will probably wind up soon, but there is a sequel planned. For something that was intended as casual smut…it has ended up pretty much the complete opposite, and has introduced some brilliant OC's. Lots of fun! ~ Atin**_


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

Fixer was almost reluctant to leave Bly's shuttle to step back on board General Plo's ship. It had been a silent trip back and he had spent it all worrying about how he was going to break the news.

He said goodbye to Bly and made his way back towards his room, helmet tucked under his arm. The first thing he did was to stop and take the time to shower and change in to his fatigues before heading for Wolffe's room.

When he knocked on the door there was no answer and it suddenly occurred to him that it had only been a matter of days…not the weeks that it seemed in his mind…so the commander was probably still in the medbay recovering. That explained why his shuttle hadn't been met in the hanger. He'd thought he was getting off easily but it was going to be so much harder to break sad news to a man already out of sorts.

He made his way through the ship towards the medbay. It wasn't the best place to have to make a report, but General Plo had left the ship so there was no one else he could report to. He sought out the medic on duty and found Ghost patrolling the bacta tanks.

The medic saw him and rushed towards him. He caught the commando's arm and dragged him in to the small office, shoving the door shut behind him. "Sol…?"

Fixer held up his hands to stop him, feeling the stress thrumming around the medic like a heat haze. "He's okay…he's okay, Ghost. We got him out of Kamino."

Ghost seemed to be both relieved and even more anxious all at the same time, as if that were possible. "Where is he? He was ill…I need to get him straight in to the medbay and on a course of antibiotics." He ground to a halt, watching the changing expressions on the commandos face. "…Fix?"

Fixer sank down in to the only chair, scrubbing his hands through his damp hair. "I couldn't bring him back here…he was stolen property as far as the GAR were concerned." He could feel the barrage of questions being lined up and couldn't face having to go through this twice. "Listen, Ghost, I need to report to the commander. Will you come with me? I don't know how he's going to take it…" Maybe it was cowardly asking someone else to share the burden, but it was all so unusual…completely outside of normal work…that he really didn't care anymore. He was wanted someone at his side when he became the bearer of bad news.

Ghost nodded slowly, feeling his heart thump in his throat. He wasn't really sure that he wanted to be present at this report, but you stood by your brothers when they needed you. "Okay, come with me. He's out of bacta but still resting. Sol's operation really took it out of him…but it seems to have worked." He managed a small smile. "He's not had any problems with his vision at all since waking, and the pain he's getting is all just part of the healing process I think…not that that makes it any better for him, but it's getting better gradually. If we knew more, then maybe we'd be able to speed up the process but as long as he's getting better, that's good enough for me."

He waited for Fixer to compose himself then led him out and through the medbay to the small private rooms. They were usually examination rooms but one had been turned over for Wolffe's use while he was stuck in the medbay. It gave him a little privacy, although he hadn't asked for it.

Fixer seemed to be getting slower and slower; as if he were walking through glue. The desire to turn and run was overwhelming. He could do anything asked of him in warfare, but telling someone that the person they loved was gone forever…that was more than anything he'd ever had to do, or would ever be asked to do. He couldn't take the pain himself, or do anything to soften the blow. He just had to stand by and watch his friend hurt.

Ghost knocked softly on the door and then let them both in.

Wolffe appeared to have been asleep but the noise of the latch closing woke him. He looked confused for a moment but he quickly realised that it wasn't only Ghost visiting him. "Fixer…Sol…?" He could see the anguish on the commandos face and instantly feared the worst. Fixer never was any good at lying.

Fixer seemed to be trying to hide behind Ghost; not that the medic gave any more confidence. He was as white as a sheet and that was quite something in a man who spent his time up to his elbows in blood. Ghost was usually the definition of unflappable calm but now he had a distinct look of someone on the verge of either throwing up or passing out.

Wolffe sat up and swung his feet out of bed. "…what happened…Fixer, please?" He tried to get up but Ghost was across the room before he managed to get to his feet. The medic forced him to stay sitting, but the slender fingers on his arm were trembling. He patted the bed beside him and Ghost sank down gratefully without even a token argument. He was close to the medic but usually they maintained the illusion of commander gap. He didn't mind, it was nice to be treated the same as anyone else – even if it was under such terrible circumstances – and he placed a hand on his brother's forearm, for his own comfort just as much as Ghost's.

Fixer stood half to attention in the centre of the room, clenching and unclenching his fingers in silent nerves. It didn't look like Ghost was up to being his moral support so he was going it alone. At least the medic was there to make sure Wolffe was okay. He declined Wolffe's offer of a seat and stayed where he was. "Sir…" He cleared his throat and tried again. "How much do you know, sir?" He was stalling for time to gather his own thoughts.

Wolffe didn't make any comment on this though; he was a considerate commander at all times. "Sol took ill and had to return to his cell. When Ghost went to him later, he was gone. General Plo sent you after him…you found something amiss in his notes?" He had been told snippets before the General left, but he had been barely out the tank and most of it had gone in one ear and out the other, regardless of how much attention he'd tried to pay. "What happened, Fix? Please…I'm not angry with you, or anyone…I just want to know what happened…"

Fixer felt a twist in his stomach. The tone was almost pleading and he'd never heard anything even close to that from their eternally brave leader. He took a deep breath and dropped his gaze to the floor. "The transfer documents were false. Commander Bly's second handed them in to be signed and Bly trusted him. Sol did fight with the medic…he did have a volatile and violent nature, but he didn't kill him. They left Sol's brother by choice behind – they left a whole squad trapped – and Sol lost it. He attacked the medic and they took the opportunity to get rid of a potential thorn in their side. Bly was ashamed of what had happened and covered it up. I met with him to go and try to rescue Sol before the Kaminoans reconditioned him and we ended up with Kirii along for the ride. Kirii was the brother by choice. Sol thought he was dead, but the squad were returned on a later patrol." He winced, realising that he was rambling. "Bly got us help from some ARC troopers he'd trained with and we got Sol out before anything could happen to him. He couldn't come back here though, because of his crimes, but he's safe..." He omitted Sol's severe illness…and his time in the death cells…and Shiv…and that the ARCs were Nulls…he omitted a lot, but he couldn't risk giving away too much.

Unfortunately Wolffe seemed to be able to put information together as fast as Fixer could ramble. "You said he didn't murder a brother…and Venn is recovering, so he could return to us and be given less severe punishment. Fighting doesn't carry a death sentence…not even for a clone." He didn't sound angry; he just seemed to think that it could all be solved. He was blindly ignoring the red tape and inflexible nature of the GAR regulations.

Fixer realised that his white lies had walked him in to this grey area. _Fek_. He looked up, knowing this wasn't going to go down well whatever he said. "I tried to sugar coat that for you a little, sir." He gulped in a breath and forged on before he lost his bottle. "He was ill. By the time he got to Kamino he was much worse and they decided he wasn't viable for reconditioning. We stole him before they could terminate him…we got his cellmate out as well." He thought of Shiv and felt anger for the first time. "He was just a kid…seventeen years old. Bomb disposal and he tried to retreat when he realised he couldn't defuse the explosives. His squad got to safety thanks to his quick thinking but the sergeants wouldn't let him run. He had lost his arm, damaged his knee and lost his hearing…so they dumped him in there. He was a scared kid…." He was lost in his own thoughts now. "We got in and out through ducting and we saw them taking another brother for disposal. He was a cadet…much younger than Shiv, and I he was just terrified and sobbing. We couldn't do anything to help him; we just had to watch as that aiwha bait took him away. Who knows what he even did to deserve it. They don't even care. He was just another unit them. Some poor, terrified little kid all alone with those chakaar…destroyed like an animal –"

"Shut up!"

It wasn't Wolffe interrupting him this time; it was Ghost. The blonde medic was hunched over with his hands up over his ears. He was shaking his head violently and rocking in silent anguish.

"…shut up…" It was softer spoken this time but no less powerful.

Fixer changed tack, needing to finish his report so he could escape. "Sir, Sol was improving when I left them and he was going somewhere safe. I can't tell you who with, and I have no idea where they were taking him – they wouldn't tell us in case we were questioned under force - but he is safe, I know that." He hung his head. "I'm sorry, sir. It was the best we could do." He waited patiently to see if there would be any further questions.

Wolffe still had a neutral expression, but he had wrapped an arm our Ghost's shoulders. He knew that terrorising the poor commando wasn't going to change the scenario, no matter how much he wanted it to. "Thank you, Fixer." It wasn't enough. He didn't have words to express his gratitude. As long as Sol was safe…that's all that matter. He just had to keep telling himself that. "Thank you for everything you did to help him. I appreciate it. Could you please make sure that any information relating to this is deleted as appropriate?"

Fixer nodded, forcing himself to hold his ground. "General Plo covered our tracks. Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?"

Wolffe shook his head. "Not just now, thank you Fixer. Just get some rest." He managed a smile as his friend saluted and left the room at record speed. He would have been happy for him to stay but it was obvious that the commando was uncomfortable being the one to have to explain it all. He'd have plenty time to thank him and express his gratitude when things had calmed down a little. It was better to just let Fixer have his space to work over what he'd seen.

Instead he turned his attention to the medic. Ghost had stopped rocking but he was trembling worse than ever and his eyes were scared and distant.

Wolffe pulled himself up on to the bed to sit behind him, wrapping his arms around his brother's shoulders and laying his head against the back of his neck. "It's never going to happen, vod'ika. I promise you're safe now." He felt the medic's hands grip his arms tight. It wasn't an attempt to pull his grip away; it was just terror manifested in a need for contact. He could feel him shaking in waves; trying to take control of the panic but only succeeding in keeping a lid on it. He'd only ever seen the medic have a full melt down panic once before, and it was after a mission trip to Kamino. Kohl had had to sedate him but once Wolffe had questioned him it became quite clear just why he had reacted this way.

Ghost had been pushed for termination repeatedly. As a young cadet they had considered culling him because he was a mutation on the normal rank and file trooper. His hair and eye colour may mean little to the clones, but it was a manifestation of failure to the Kaminoans; a species to whom eye colour governed a strict caste system. While he escaped termination at those early years, he was subject to repeated additional tests because they were sure that he was going to fail at some point…like a second rate product. Several times in his years as a cadet he had come within a hairs breadth of finding himself in those conditions that Fixer had described. It had been a terror very close to home. Ghost had had to work extra hard to prove his value as a unit. That was what had made him such a good medic; he was always pushing to be better than the standard to protect his own life.

He had explained, through fits of panicked tears, that they had talked of his death while he was stood in front of him. Kaminoans never thought of the child. Every clone was a product and they didn't care what was going through that products mind as they discussed its value.

As if thinking the same as Wolffe, Ghost drew in a deep, shuddering breath and his grip tightened on his arm.

Wolffe felt tears stinging his eyes and he pushed his face against his brother's skin, inhaling the comforting smell. He couldn't stop himself crying, but he didn't know if he was crying for Ghost and the trauma that he kept hidden below the surface as he cared for everyone else's problems, or whether his crying was selfishly for his own loss. He let his mind stray to Sol for a moment and realised he was crying for both, and for every single brother who had ever been put through the inevitable fear and terror of warfare, and those who never got through the training, and for the injustice of their life in general.

If he were a normal man, he could love…but nobody cared if a clone loved. He had a job to do. He was responsible for the lives of every man under his command and nowhere in that came room for his own desires; romantic or lustful.

He could feel Ghost calming down. The trembling had stopped and it was no longer like hugging a rock. He loosened his grip a little and allowed his arms to drop down and loosely circle Ghost's waist; no longer feeling the need to 'hold him together'. "Are you okay, vod'ika?" His voice was muffled against his brother's shoulder, and thick with his tears, but it was understandable.

Ghost nodded, testing out his own voice. "You?" He felt a little foolish for his little display, but Fixer's description had been too close to home. He could have been that little kid several times over. He was glad that he'd held it together until Fixer had left. Few knew about his past; his squad knew because he would wake them all up when he had screaming nightmares, but nobody else was privy to his secrets. The select few knew, and they were always on hand to help him when he needed support, but he didn't want anyone more than necessary to know. He knew he could do his job as well as any other brother, but the sense of second rate skill had been ingrained in him at such a young age, he often feared that his brothers would lose confidence in him if they knew. It made no sense because they had never even questioned his differences beyond some initial interest.

He stood out in a crowd, but nobody had ever seemed to care about his differences. He was just Ghost…just another brother.

He realised Wolffe hadn't answered him, but he could feel the wetness on the back of his neck and he daren't move. It was hard to get the commander to express any emotion other than control and he wasn't about to move him until he was ready.

Instead he sat quietly, stroking the clenched hands around his stomach. He wished there were something he could do, but nobody was going to replace Sol. Wolffe had shown little interest in his brother's until Sol came along and he was sure it was going to return to that normality.

The commander didn't seem to think he deserved any joy in his life. Trying to replace Sol wasn't going to be an answer to any of the problems. They were all individuals.

All they could do was be there for each other. They always had been, but now the value of this friendship had been truly hammered home. It was okay to have moments like this where the command gap disappeared. They could laugh together, so equally they could cry together.

_Maybe, some day, this war will be over and we can live a life that isn't filled with death, but until then they would take each step together and if one stumbled, there would always be someone at his side to help him along. They would get through this; minute by minute, day by day, month by month…it was manageable together. _

They may have no rights, no identity to anyone apart from their own brothers, but what they had was much more than many creatures had. The understood the value of life. Too many people walk through life with no care, no understanding of what could be around the corner.

A clone trooper knows what may be waiting for him, but he knows that he will face nothing alone, and in that small fact there is an eternity of comfort.

_We will get through._

* * *

><p><strong><em>Well...this is the first time I've managed to end a story! :O I've started the sequel but I'm trying to write it as my nanowrimo challenge. Not doing it in true nanowrimo form...just as many words I can manage a day. Too much coursework to tackle it properly, but it's coming along okay...at least in bullet pointed ideas, if not in full drafted story! Hopefully I'll start to share that one around December. <em>**

**_I hope everyone has enjoyed the story...meeting these new OC's. They were merely meant to be background to the Sol/Wolffe story, but certain individuals have taken on a life of their own *cough*Ghost*cough*. I would like to come back some time and explore their own back stories but for now the best I can offer is the sequel to this, which will be called 'To Form a Pack'. _**

**_Thanks for all the reviews and support. Stick around for the next instalment! ~ Atin_**


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